Stumble
by ideophobic
Summary: Wherein Sakura learns why growing up among sociopaths is ill-advised. SakuraMultiple, UchiSaku. AU, most definitely. Discontinued.
1. Prologue

Konan had never particularly liked children.

Sure, when they were being quiet, relatively clean, and weren't getting their chubby little fingers fingers into anything-they weren't _terrible. _Unfortunately, most children weren't clean, quiet, or fingerless. The little creatures in Ame, especially. As a result of this mindset, the blue-haired kunoichi had never thought of having children. She wasn't like the other women her age – kunoichi, or no – who pined and doted and longed for to hold and cuddle and care for. The nurturing urge had been beaten out of her long ago by the sheer primitive need to survive in a war torn area. She had been desensitized - burnt and broken of all motherly feelings.

Or so she had thought.

Children should not be on the mind of the right-hand of God. Her duty was mingled with him, and their organisation's success – not mired in the lowly, earthly realms of growing, and fertility. She had not even considered them as an option. She couldn't - wouldn't - bear having a child and casting it aside, not like her, not like them. That is, until she found out she was pregnant. Her panic had been swift and all consuming. Kami help her, she had no idea how to take care of a child.

Could she even do that? Pein and Madara were just starting to bring in recruits for their organization, a child...would set her back - them all back.

Konan sank to the forest floor in a more undignified manner than her usual poise and grace and idly folded a small piece of paper into a flower. Tiny, near imperceptible, shudders could be seen in her deceptively delicate fingers. It was getting cold and she'd have to build a fire soon. She closed her eyes and dropped the origami flower onto her lap.

Pein.

He would not be happy at all. They had decided a few years ago that a romantic relationship would not be the best thing for them. It had been unpleasant for a while - so awkward on her side, so cold on his - but they had slowly but surely slipped back into the role of brother an sister, comrades, best friends. Like pieces of a wrinkled puzzle, they smoothed each other and fit their jagged edges together to create a family.

Konan had slipped and slept with a man a month ago in snow country.

She remembers his bright red hair - almost, almost, unnervingly close to the colour of Pein's in the right light. She hadn't meant to, she really hadn't - and kind green eyes, the way he didn't ask for anything more than a night. She had been wearing and worried for Pein - Madara isn't trustworthy, this organization that Pein plans to change the world with, its pitfalls. She had let him take her home, all the while_knowing_ that she could destroy him with a twist of her wrist. It had been fun - touching someone so untainted, pressing her lips to sweet, unscarred skin...but she was gone before he woke up.

But now... Now, she had a child growing within the confines of her womb who was not planned or necessarily wanted. Could she bring a child into this insane world?

Slowly, almost of its own will, her deadly hand crept to the flat plain of her abdomen. She felt the smooth, cool, metal of several of her naval piercings and thought, dimly, that she would have to remove them, lest they cause her pain and problems when her stomach began to swell. In a few weeks there would be a bump there, then a child.

Could she risk it?

What would it feel like, to hold something of her creation? Something she had held inside of her for months?

Her thumb started to gently stroke the fabric of her stomach, her eyes stayed closed.

She tried to picture it, this thing - this little human who would like like her, the man with green eyes, her parents and his. Konan imagined little fingers tugging at the hem of her robe, asking to be held. She imagined bath time and coloring and unconditional love.

If she kept it, would it be a boy or a girl? Her hair or his? Advanced chakra pathways or civilian tendencies? Would it be calm and collected or loud and energetic?

She took a deep breath of forest-dampened air - so full of life and death and everything in between. Pein would not be happy, but maybe he wouldn't be too angry, either. Madara probably wouldn't care, as long as his plans and ambitions stayed untouched by the child. Her pale fingers splayed over her stomach in a possessive display only a mother can manage.

She was keeping this baby.

.

When the kunoichi returned to their base in the outskirts of Ame, her figure had changed considerably. It had been three and a half months since that day in the forest and she had since recruited a strange man who would do wonderfully on reconnaissance missions. Since then, she had been preparing for the birth of her child. Konan figured that the farther along she was, the less angry her dearest friend would be.

From behind, she looked no different - but that is where the changes ended. _Now not even the volumous Akatsuki cloak could hide her drastically changed shape from anyone who cared to glance in her direction._ Her previously flat stomach had rounded and expanded to fit the growing baby and her breasts had started to swell. Her figure, over all, had turned softer and more motherly - a stark change from the hard muscle and lean physique of a seasoned kunoichi.

It took a long moment for the pierced shinobi to realize what was wrong with his comrade. He stared at her swollen abdomen with a blank silver gaze.

Konan stood tall as she endured Pein's scrutiny. Despite her travel wearied state, she had done her best to appear healthy and put together. In a way, this was the first time Pein and her child would ever meet, even if they couldn't look each other in the eyes. In response to her slightly elevated heart rate, her growing child shifted just slightly.

"You," Pein narrowed his eyes at the bulge under his partners robe. "Are with child."

She laid a gentle hand atop her stomach in a blatantly protective gesture. "I am."

Konan was hesitant. At this stage in her pregnancy, if something were to happen, her child could not survive outside her body. If Pein tried to harm the baby, she would have a high probability of surviving, but her infant would have none. She doubted he would try, but if he did she would _destroy_ him. Not even Madara would find the pieces.

Pein's silver-ringed eyes scanned her figure curiously. It was strange: seeing her this way.

He had known Konan for what felt like his whole life and for most of that time, she had never really changed. It was odd seeing a change so drastic in someone he had perceived immovable. She was the solid floor beneath the ever moving stream of life - untouched, unchanging, keeping him tethered to reality_.._.

Not to mention the fact that it was nearly impossible for him to register the fact that she had a small human inside of her - one she hadn't eaten, unlike their most recently recruited member.

Slowly, he approached. Konan tensed, but did not move away when the tips of his fingers settled against fabric covering her abdomen - even a hint of chakra, and she'd stick a kunai through his windpipe. She loved him. She loved him more than she'd loved anyone else, but her child was coming into this world - with or without his approval.

There was another tiny shift within her womb. The orange-haired shinobi cocked his head to the side and pressed his palm against Konan's enlarged stomach. Another shift.

He leaned down, almost nose to nose with her rounded abdomen and said: "Hello."

.

It was raining. A storm swirled above a delapidated little inn near the center of Ame. Water fell in great, unbroken sheets against the shoddy structure.

Pein tilted his head towards the familiar, roiling sky and tried to relax.

The day had finally come; Konan's child was arriving. The hunched midwife and her mousy assistant had ussured him out as soon as she was on the bed. Kami only knew what was happening in there.

He had been under the impression that the birthing process was a loud and agonizing one, but so far Konan hadn't made a noise. Although, he could be wrong - it's not like he had been through this before.

Konan was strong - the strongest woman he had ever known - but there could be complications. What if she doesn't stop bleeding? What if the baby is born still and cold? What would happen to his closest friend and partner?

The rain splashed off of his barbells and studs with tiny _ting, ting, tings. _He tried to lose himself in the noise of the rain and wind and not in the deeply unnerving absence of sound from within the inn. He almost, almost wished she would scream just so he could hear her voice and _know_ there was enough breath left in that precious body to do so. Konan would live. She was not leaving him - not after all they had been through.

_Ting, ting, ting._

He needed her, Kami, he needed her. He was a God, but she was his saving grace - his kindest angel. He couldn't fix the world without her, he wouldn-

There! A thin, high wail - striking and haunting and entirely new to the world. _Ting, ting, ting._ Slowly, as to let in the least amount of rain and cold as possible, the door opened. A shaft of light, flickering and golden, passed over his figure as the midwife beckoned him inside.

Compared to the near frigid temperature of outside, the birthing room was stifling: the air heavy and humid with a cloying, organic scent. He was by Konan's side in an instant, looking over the damage. She lay on her side, a pillow propped under her head - her beautiful origami hair piece left out and sapphire hair down, for once - and her eyes were staring intently at the apprentice in the corner. Not once did she look his way, not even a flicker when standing directly beside her.

The midwife and her student worked quickly and silently. He supposed that working in the presence of a God and his angel was an awe-inspiring, bone-chilling experience - not to mention that, to them, a God's right hand had just given birth. Whether or not the child would be as holy to them as Pein and Konan would take time to find out. The orange haired shinobi brushed his fingers over his partner's sheet covered ankle, wordlessly asking if she was alright.

Konan's honey-colored eyes flickered to his with a tired nod before turning her undivided attention to her child - now being carried in the arms of the old midwife over to them. The woman's gnarled fingers laid a tiny bundle of blankets next to the kunoichi's head. It squirmed and made a faint gurgling noise. The old woman touched a corner of the blanket with a twisted finger.

"Would you like me to tell you, or do you want to find out for yourselves?" Pein peered at the bundle. Contrary to what he had heard, babies fresh out their mothers were not, in fact, cute. This thing was red and a little wrinkly and it looked vaguely slimy. It opened its little eyes and stared back at him. Maybe this thing _could_ be somewhat attractive one day. Maybe.

Konan stroked its miniature cheek with the tip of her pointer finger. It was more than slightly amusing to see her child and her partner staring at each other - one mildly disturbed and the other curious and hungry. The kunoichi had a strong feeling that she already knew the sex of her child - a girl, it had to be a girl, girlgirlgirl - but she wouldn't care either way.

Her labor had been fast and hard. One minute she was sharpening her kunai - and storing them somewhere where little hands wouldn't find them - and the next she was nearly crippled by the pain. Then she was in this stuffy little room with the old woman and her granddaughter and suddenly there was someone else in there, too. One cry, long and high, and her child had announced to all of them that she - girlgirlgirl - was here now.

"We'll do it." Konan whispered, not wanting to disturb her lovely, lovely baby. The woman was out of the room as fast as her old bones would take her.

Without any pomp, she lifted the lip of the soft blue blanket and peered underneath. "Nagato," he flinched. "I want you to name her."

The shinobi inspected the tiny human as he stepped closer the bed and its occupants. What does a God name a child? He had no idea. Something profound, probably. His gaze scanned her tiny, scrunched face. What did he see there?

Her eyes, wide and sparkling in her little face - a faded green now, perhaps darker when the color settles. Her hair, colorless in this light, looked like the downy fuzz of a duckling. Her nose, a delicate button above a plump little mouth.

She was delicate - fragile like the spring flowers that couldn't bloom in Ame. He wondered what they were going to train her in. She certainly wouldn't be one for taijutsu - too small, too breakable. Maybe ninjutsu. He lifted a powerful hand - a hand that had taken lives, many lives - and touched the back of his scarred knuckle to her pink cheek. A smirk tweaked the corners of his lips. Pink and green.

"Sakura."

The new mother arched a fine navy eyebrow. Honestly, she had no idea how he had gotten there. If that smirk was anything to go by, she probably was better off not knowing. She gazed at Sakura - beautiful, lovely, _magnificent _Sakura. Her baby, her child, her offspring, her progeny, _her creation._ And she knew - she _knew_ - that her daughter would be strong. She would be stronger than her, stronger than Pein, stronger than Madara.

Staring into the pale green eyes of her daughter, Konan had a gut feeling - the feeling of warning, of purpose, of knowing what you have to do - even if you don't know why. She knew with the certainty of a mother, that she needed to shield her precious creation from their leader's dark influence. This pretty, _pretty, _little thing with her big green eyes and her soft white hair was going to interest him, she was sure.

Sakura managed to wriggle a tiny fist from the blanket binding her and bopped her mother on the nose with a firm-sounding _glrug._

A tiny, rare smile tugged at the corners of her full lips. Oh, her daughter would handle her own just fine.

It wasn't until a month later that they realized Sakura's hair was, in fact, pink. Konan thought Pein looked just a little smug.

* * *

Prologue writing is awkward. A huge fish to my carzyawesome beta, Ophelialovesthefishes - because apparently she likes them. First Naruto fic - funfunfun!

- Vene


	2. Chicanery

**Chicanery **(shih-KAY-nuh-ree) noun:

1. The use of trickery or sophistry to deceive (as in matters of law).

2. A trick; a subterfuge.

* * *

Uchiha Madara could count on one hand the number of times he had held a child.

He held both of his sons when they were fresh out of his wives' womb and once when his eldest broke his leg in training - a few other blurred memories of holding his children passed behind his eyelids as he stared into a childs' crib. The baby's soft breath was the only sound in the little room. It stared at him with large emerald eyes, not blinking and eerily intelligent.

His mask lay on the ground where he had left it – absent minded in the face of storming curiosity. His crimson gaze stayed firmly locked on the little thing in front of him as he took another step forward, looming over the seemingly unperturbed child.

Little waves of soft blush-colored hair sat atop an alabaster head - little ears, large doe eyes, puckered little mouth, a delicately upturned nose. He snorted - if it was a boy, he was _screwed. _It looked up at him from its plain little cradle and watched him. Finely arched pink eyebrows furrowed just slightly over disturbingly contemplative eyes. Dark lashes fanned over rosy cheeks when she finally blinked. In the semi-dark of the room, she seemed ghostly in her paleness and hollowed, like a doll. The light spilling in from the hall reflected off the glassy surfaces of her eyes as she scrutinized him.

From what little knowledge he had of children and the like, Madara gathered that this child could be anywhere from one to two years old. He was absolutely sure that this child was Konan's - the same pointed little nose, plum-shaped lips, the wide almond shape to their eyes. The little girl - had to be - lifted up her arms and clenched and unclenched her fingers with a pointed _mupmup._ With a shrug of his wide shoulders, he hooked his thumbs under her arms and pulled her out of the crib. He held her against his chest in a way that seemed stiff and mismatched with his relaxed expression. Sweet jutsu, this kid was _tiny._

The baby pressed her pale forehead to the junction between his shoulder and neck with a small exhale of air that might have been a sigh. The Uchiha wondered if this small thing was both Konan's and Pein's. The thought left him positively _giddy._ To have Pein's kekkai-genkai and Konan's natural ability wrapped up into one malleable, impressionable package would be a fine new tool to add to his arsenal.

He glanced around the little room appraisingly. It was sparse and could hardly be considered a nursery. The walls were a bare white and the only furniture was her average crib and little dresser in the corner. There were no toys or cheerful colors, save a tattered blue blanket that had seen better days. Madara quirked a dark brow and glanced down at the creature that was clinging to him like a little pink monkey.

Even by his - admittedly low - standards, this place could use some life blown into it. The whole reason he had opened the door into this depressing little space was because it looked like a storage closet. The sickly yellow light spilling in from the hallway cast fingers of shadows across the bare, worn floorboards in a way that could only be described as eerie.

The baby girl in his hold rubbed a dimpled fist across her half-lidded eyes with a yawn. Madara lifted his free hand and gently twined his fingers in silky pink hair. A shadow passed over the pair, but he didn't bother turning to greet the undoubtedly furious kunoichi.

"You never told me you had a child, Konan."

His voice, dark and dangerous and damn near _gleeful,_ sent angry tremors from the crown of her blue head to the tips of her orange painted toes. She had been gone only a few minutes, having just laid Sakura down to sleep - Sakura was a ridiculously light sleeper, and tended to wake up several times a night - and had come to check on her precious girl. The origami mistress felt icy pricks of dread gather in the pit of her stomach as their leader tangled his fingers in her daughter's cotton candy strands.

Perfectly shaped, gleaming white teeth appeared as a predator's grin stretched across the shinobi's ageless face. Madara took particular pleasure in the fact that Konan was bound from attacking him - held back by obligation, a gap in skill, and the risk of hurting her child. The baby opened her wide green eyes and peered at her mother. "Mah!"

If the situation weren't so dire, the woman would have cracked a tiny smile. Sakura - brilliant little Sakura - was learning and developing skills so rapidly even Pein was impressed. (He didn't ever say it, but she could tell.) She was hardly even a year old and she could speak semi-coherently. Konan was _Mah_and Pein was _Peh. _Unfortunately, the kunoichi would soon have to break her of that habit.

She had decided while she was pregnant, that it would be safer for her if no one knew that they were mother and daughter. She was still debating on whether or not she should tell her anything at all. Would it be too risky if she knew? What if - Konan nearly drove a paper shuriken into Pein's silver eye for even suggesting this - she was captured and interrogated? Would they believe her if she said she had always been there, could never remember not being with them?

Madara shifted the child so her weight rested on his pointed hip and continued, "Quite honestly, I'm surprised. I never would have thought you'd keep a baby." _She'd never tell him how close she came to _not _keeping her daughter._

There was a tense silence during which Madara seemed to gloat without words before going immediately for the question she knew he had been dying to ask.

"Do tell - is it Pein's? I find myself hoping it is his child, but those pretty green eyes say differently." His tone was cheerfully curious, just as it's supposed to be when you're speaking about a baby.

She wanted to rip his hands off for touching her daughter.

"She is not Pein's," Instead of instigating a doomed battle, the kunoichi took slow, careful steps toward the duo - keeping her eyes on his hands at all times. Even in the relative darkness, she could see the eerie crimson glow of his Sharingan.

The ancient Uchiha tried not to feel _too_ disappointed. He watched as the woman inched her way towards him with a small smile. She had to be careful now; she had a child to think about. Said child squirmed in his hold and started chanting, "Dun, dun_, dun!" _in a way that was only vaguely comical.

"Her father," she watched as Sakura began to wriggle out of Madara's hold. Her lips almost twitched. Her baby was damn near impossible to hold onto when she didn't want to be - even with ninja skills. "was a doctor from a village in snow country. Civilian."

The man, tired of trying to restrain a wriggling baby, hooked his thumbs under her arms once more and lifted her to eye level. He heard, but ignored, Konan's nearly silent hiss of warning. "Little girl," His tomoe started to spin, to grab her attention and out of reflex more than anything, and stared into her indignant eyes sternly. "You will behave properly when in the presence of a superior. Are we clear?"

He seriously hadn't known that babies could look righteously indignant. Instead of crying in the face of a reprimand, Konan's daughter managed to lock her little fingers around a lock of his bangs and pull. The shinobi jerked in surprise. The tug didn't particularly hurt, but it had been a long time since he'd had his hair pulled - neither in a good nor bad way. He briefly considered dropping her, but from this height it would probably do some damage. The raven haired man decided to put her in her place there and then. He couldn't use his Mangekyo on her: at this age it would most likely cause irreparable brain damage. He'd have to be simple.

Konan watched, amused but mostly _horrified,_ as her lovely baby gave the most powerful man in the worlds' bangs a vicious tug.

Madara brought the feisty little girl a hairsbreadth from his face and latched his front teeth onto her tiny nose. Shocked, Sakura made a strange sound - a cross between a _meep _and a _gahk_, wretched her little nose from his teeth, and bit his in return.

Madara fell in love. There and then.

_._

Over the course of her third year, Sakura learned a few very important things.

One: Never try to pull out one of Leader's earrings. Like. _Never._

Two: If you hear a hissing noise, do not investigate. The snake was nice, Orochimaru was not. Sort of. He let her read his medical books, after she was nearly swallowed whole, at least.

Three: Madara likes when his hair is petted - which goes both ways, because Sakura adores running her little fingers through the rough strands - but she isn't allowed to tell anybody about his hair or his real name. Sakura likes that he trusts her with his secret.

When Kisame first met Konan's daughter, he thought that she was the cutest thing he'd ever seen. Not that he'd ever - _ever - _say that out loud, though.

.

It was with great relief that the nukenin dropped his pack to the floor of his semi-permanent quarters in the quasi-permanent headquarters in Ame. Months of uncertainty and indecision had brought him here. Along with a hefty dose of rebellion and something like spite. He thinks that, for the most part, this could be a pretty good arrangement, but even if it isn't... He smiled a sharp-toothed smile to himself – there were _ways_ to get out of even arrangements like these. Setting Samehada down, he rolled his monstrous shoulders in a ripple of muscles to relieve some of the tension that had built up in them. He was in the process of taking off his sandals when he heard it.

A small shuffle. The sound of someone trying to be quiet, but not quite knowing how. Instantly on alert, the former Kiri-nin grabs the hilt of Samehada in one hand and some kunai in the other, just in case.

Another shuffle, closer this time. Kisame frowns and tries to figure out why the attacker is taking such small steps. Soon he can hear breathing - soft, but noticeable. What the hell? - Did the Akatsuki really just let pathetic amateurs in off the streets?

Samehada in hand, he ducks into the hall - prepared to scare the living _crap_ out of the dumbass who tried to sneak up on him, and then probably give them a nice set of bruises as a badge of honour for their efforts.

There, in the middle of the narrow hallway, staring up at him from her short height, was a little girl. With ridiculous hair. Holding a book that was larger than her. Dumbstruck, his grip slips on his sword and the tip of it hits the stone floor with a small boom that echoes audibly. The little girl doesn't even blink, although she does peer at Samehada curiously.

"Uh," Slipping his kunai into the pocket on his pant leg (because, bizarrely, he doesn't want to scare her with it... as though his appearance won't take care of that), Kisame shakes his head. Still a little wary of a - really, really weird - trap, he says: "What're you doin' here, kid?"

Cocking her head to the side like a puppy, Sakura huffs at him. Her jade eyes narrow from over the book she's attempting carry. "What are _you _doing here, mister?"

Scoffing, Kisame rises to the challenge in her voice. "Depends on what _you're _doin' here. _Squirt."_

Looking affronted, she struggles to prop her heavy book atop her hip and be insulted at the same time. "I _live _here. _Fishy." _With her cheeks dusted a soft pink in anger and her little arms struggling to keep hold of the weighty book, Kisame found in increasingly difficult to stay agitated. It was totally freaking wei-

Wait. _Wait._

_Fishy? _In his hand, Samehada vibrated in a way that seemed amused.

"Who do you think you're talking to, huh? I live here, _too." _He intended to scare her when he bent down and bared his pointed teeth. Unfortunately for him and his bad guy ego, Sakura had already met some pretty scary men in her three and a half years. After a moment of silence, Sakura sucked in her bottom lip between her teeth and made a _pfft _noise. Ducking between his legs, she started her slow way down the hall.

"I've already _met _Orochimaru-san and he is _way _scarier."

Indignant, Kisame follows her. "Hey! I am _plenty _scary!" Swiping the heavy tome out of her hands, he begins to thumb the – questionably stained - pages with a semi-horrified expression. "Can you even _read _this stuff?"

"Give it _back, _Fishy! Orochimaru-san will be _mad _if you ruin it!" Attempting to grab the stolen book from her height was impossible, so she tried scaling his pant leg. It was utterly humiliating when he managed to stop her with two fingers against her forehead. "Give _it!" _she snarls in a totally nonthreatening way. Kind of like a kitten, he thinks. Or maybe a duckling. Whichever was cuter.

"Jeez, Squirt." he continues. "Is this what passes for entertainment in this place?"

"For _smart _people!" He would find out later that, yes, medical textbooks _are _her only entertainment. Shortly after that revelation, he buys her a little stuffed shark with a red cape. She names it Chicanery. It was Madara's idea.

"Kisame-san." A soft voice, seemingly out of nowhere, stops the duo in their tracks. A grin blooms across Sakura's face as she swirls around to greet the plant man. Kisame, recognizing his distinct chakra patterns - two of them, which he finds kind of creepy - and spares him only a passing glance over his shoulder.

"Zetsu-kun!" She dips in a quick bow - "Manners, Sakura! I swear, you will drive me to drink." Konan got mad at the nanny for that one. - before running to hug the shinobi's leg. "You've been gone so _long_! I thought I was never going to see you again! Can we go in your garden later? And then maybe have some ice cream, too?"

"Later, Sakura-can. _I have to escort this jackass first." _The foul language and darker voice slipped right over Sakura's head as she turned to scrutinize Kisame. He continued to stare at the book like it was written in a completely different language.

"Fish - Kisame-san can come too, if he wants."

The ex Kiri-nin glances over his shoulder and considers saying no. Wide green eyes, naive and trusting and kind, stare at him as she reaches for his big blue hand.

"I'll even share my mint chip, if you want."

Tucking the book under his arm so she wouldn't have to carry it, he curls two fingers around all of hers and lets her drag him towards the kitchen - all traces of her earlier anger gone as she chattered at the two missing-nin. Over her pink head, they share a look - one disbelieving and totally confused, the other calm and a little amused by the whole situation.

Kisame never does find out why Sakura is with them, but it's not like you'll ever hear him complain about it.

"Kisame-san, I know the perfect ice cream for you!" she cries as they near the communal kitchen. He hums curiously. "Fish Food!"

* * *

**EDIT: **A/N: Damn. For some reason my Author's Note got deleted when I uploaded this. D: I _meant _to say that this story is AU for now. It will be UchiSaku later, but for now it is SakuMulti. It _will not _have a Harem ending, people. They creep me out. We're going to move pretty quickly through Sakura's younger years mostly because I suck at writing kids for long periods and I like the smexeh tehms.

A humongous hug and slobbery kiss to my darling Beta/Pimp for being patient and taking time out of her hugely busy schedule and Essay Time. :D


	3. Effulgence

**effulgence **(i-FUL-juhn(t)s) noun:

1. The state of being bright and radiant; splendor; brilliance.

* * *

Sakura is exploring on the day she meets Sasori. Of _course_, she shouldn't be. It's silly of you to ask.

Konan would be angry if she knew – in that cold way of icy disapproving that cuts Sakura to the core. Luckily, she's off on a mission and isn't here to catch her daughter wandering the dim corridors of the Akatsuki headquarters alone. Her nanny has given up on chasing her and is probably sitting reading a saucy romance novel at this very moment.

It is three days until she turns four and Sakura finds herself only minimally excited. She hopes to get more books this year - she's run out again. Sometimes she needs help with some of the words but that's what a dictionary is for, right? Nanny tried giving her crayons and paper to _draw _with a couple times, but when they ended up in the toilet, an ant hill, and the bottom of the pond in the courtyard, she gave up on creating an artist.

What had started out as an expedition to find food/reading material had degraded into mindless meanderings of her home. And that absolutely was not code for completely, utterly and hopelessly lost. Not at _all. _She was just a little...turned around. And cold. And maybe a little hungry, too. If she'd have known she was going to be out this long she would have brought a sweater – probably the sleek red one that clashed horribly with her hair, but reminded her of Madara's eyes - or maybe the old cloak Madara himself had left in her room and hadn't come back for yet. Yeah, that one. It smells nice.

She remembered the day that he had left it very clearly; they had been sitting talking, and then he had read some of her book for her when she had begged and ran her fingers through his hair in the way he liked. His voice was one of her favourite things to listen to. Then he had gotten up, and even looked at it before he left, but hadn't picked it up. It... almost seemed like he had left it on purpose. Sakura didn't think much about that though – even if he had she didn't mind.

Speaking of which, she hopes the Sharingan wielder will be back in time for her birthday. He doesn't ever bring her anything, but she hasn't seen him in a while and it would be nice if he was there to read to her like he did last time. He says birthdays are useless when you live forever and why should she get a present that she can lose, when he can just train her or something? Kisame looked like he'd swallowed something sour - Kisame does _not_ like sour - when she said this to him. Then he asked who told her that because, damnit, birthdays are _special!_

"Around," she shrugged her delicate shoulders and hid her smile behind her book. She loved being Madara's secret keeper.

As the little girl roams the halls, she wishes Madara was with her. _He'd _know which way to go. He'd probably bring a coat, too. The halls of the underground part of the base where all the rooms and living quarters are kept are wide and low. Moisture from the muddy soil of Ame and the flag stones that reinforce the walls make the whole place a gloomy, wet place to live. She is lucky that she is growing up to be 'a big healthy girl' because according to her medical books such conditions can cause, or aggravate, respiratory problems and lots of other illnesses That's one reason Konan and Kisame and Zetsu and Pein and Orochimaru wear those snazzy cloaks and why nanny always tries to insist on her wearing an ungodly number of layers.. The heavy fabric of the cloak keeps them warm down in the tunnels and under the torrential downpour that seemed a constant in Rain Country.

Sakura wants a cloak just like Konan's. She wants to be just like her when she grows up, too! Just as pretty and poised and graceful and tall...

It's getting late, if the heaviness in her limbs was anything to go by. Her stomach growls loudly as she rubs a pale hand across her tired eyes. _Let's see...I took a left, and then a right, and...another right. I think. Or maybe two lefts then a right? I can't be _too_ far._

A whisper of fabric goes entirely unnoticed by the youngster. Orochimaru watches carefully Sakura trudges along. His eerie yellow eyes glow in the semi-darkness of the hall and a barely noticeable grimace pulls at the corners of his lips. The quick bandaging he'd slapped on the wound in his side was doing little - he'd have to apply some better bandaging when he got to his room. It would be difficult, even with his limb extension jutsu, because he loses the dexterity to properly wrap himself up.

He'd be damned before he asked Sasori for help. The damnable puppet was a thorn in his side and a meddler. Asking for help is a weakness and should only be done when you have something to gain from that person. Like, a body, perhaps.

It wasn't until he was standing beside her that Sakura noticed him. She gasps in surprise and quickly bows because she knows he likes people to be polite. "Orochimaru-sama!" he is pleased she is now able to say the correct honorific without lisping, that was just so irritating," Can you tell me how to get back to the...you're _bleeding_!"

Almost past her, he stops mid-step when he feels her tug at his cloak – a breach of the propriety he expects to be shown to him from one so young. He glares venomously when she pulls her hand back and it's covered in a sticky red fluid. Against her lily white skin he thinks the contrast is stunning in a horrible, beautiful way. He is certain that she will be reasonably attractive when she matures – and maybe a prospective emergency body since he wasn't allowed to keep any of his own choices within the base - but for now all he sees is big emerald eyes and pink hair and his congealing blood on her hand.

Nearly on the verge of panicking, Sakura looks up at him with big, watering eyes - what if he _died? _Madara would be so disappointed with her! She _hates_when Madara is disappointed in her - she withdraws her hand quickly and wipes the blood on her pant leg, ignoring the stain that will make nanny squawk angrily later. It leaves dark streaks that look like a distorted face to him. "Orochimaru-sama, can I help?" He thinks she sounds squeaky and scared and he wonders how she is going to ever be a good kunoichi.

"Do you know how to wrap a wound, Sakura?" He knows the answer even before she processes what he's said. She'd taken dozens of books out of his collection, mostly medical, and had read them over and over. He's not certain on how much she really understood, but helping him wrap up his side isn't too difficult.

Her cotton candy bangs swish over her delicately pointed chin when she nods emphatically. With knowledge comes confidence and Sakura's shoulders straighten and her eyes are suddenly clear of worry and uncertainty. The long black silk of the Sannin's hair falls over his wide shoulder as he tilts his head to get a better look at those lively things her father must have imparted to her. He doubts that her mother had anything to do with those eyes. Konan's were a hard amber, calm and cold and tired. Her daughter had eyes like sunshine, sweet and bright and shining.

In the slick, dark confines of his mind, a sneer passes behind his usual, more important, thoughts. Someone would have to beat that out of her.

"I can, Orochimaru-sama!" She is eager to please because she rarely gets the chance to do so. Sometimes she doesn't see them for months at a time and sometimes she'll find traces of them and find they have already left. Only Konan and Kisame ever bother to say goodbye, and that's only when they have time.

Orochimaru does not smile when he places his hand atop her head and turns her in the direction of empty medical bay. He finds it a little amusing that she doesn't even flinch when the clammy coldness of his fingers brush behind her small ear – extremities were always the first to go in these bodies, and this one was already starting to turn soft with the purplish red discoloration of livor mortis beginning to appear. Many years later, when he repeats the action - just to see, he says - her reaction is violent and powerful and _beautiful._

.

When Sakura thinks back to this time, her memories are fuzzy like a half-forgotten dream and littered with useless titbits of information. She remembers the cool steel of the exam table and the sight of Orochimaru's split flesh, like a broken, exotic fruit, as he peels the tattered field bandage from his side. She remembers the stale smell of the medical bay, like it had never been used. She recalls the feel of the Sannin's skin under her small, clumsy fingers. Her stomach rolls when she thinks about whose skin it had been previously.

At the time, there is no irony in her situation. She was so happy to finally be helping. In her mind, younger Sakura is scanning page three eighty-five of _The Guide to Field Medicine and Operation. _Orochimaru directs her as she attempts to clean the trickling wound.

She is so scared of hurting him - she once cut herself on Samehada and nearly had all of the flesh of her thumb shredded off and holy _cow_ that hurt. Sakura can hardly imagine what it must feel like to have an open, gaping wound on your side.

She works quickly and precisely, just like the book told her to. If she had known how to use medical jutsu, the whole process could have been over in moments. Instead, she carefully covers the wound with patches of heavily woven gauze and then a thinner, sticky layer to keep those in place. Over those, he helps her wrap a standard white bandage around his torso to keep from jostling the cut in his sleep. He is certain that, while he sleeps, his massive chakra reserves will have sealed the wound to near nothingness.

The harsh fluorescent lights of the bay, and the stark way they reflect off of the white walls, make Sakura's eyes hurt after a while. Her tiredness and hunger are catching up to her when she is folding the edge of the bandage into the wrapped part. She must have drifted off to sleep when Orochimaru was slipping his shirt back over his head, because the next thing she knew, a hand - long fingered, oddly cool, a strange texture - was lifting her long pink bangs from her face and speaking.

Groggily, unwillingly, she cracks her eyes - almost yellow in the light of the bay - and is confronted by the prettiest person she has ever seen. He is so close she nearly bumps noses with him when she draws back sharply; knocking over the tray of supplies she'd used to help Orochimaru with a heart-stopping clatter that jerks her fully into awareness in the process.

Her patient is nowhere to be seen, but the little girl doesn't notice. All she can see is the beautiful man standing before her. He has hair the color of Madara's eyes and skin like Konan's and his eyes are a warm teak. Until this moment, she thought that Madara was the most beautiful person she'd ever seen. But. This man.

In him she can see color and stories and faraway places and time and so many things she has yet to experience.

"How did you get in here?" the man asks, politely, with the slightest twinge that might have been curiosity or irritation - like she hadn't just been asleep in the medical bay next to a table covered in bloody bandages and like she wasn't a little girl with stupid pink hair and too small stature. His voice is oddly flat and monotone, but somehow even more captivating than Madara's. She doesn't know how to respond, for once, because she is stunned speechless the combination of his voice and his face – he is so bright and colored in the midst of all the white. His voice makes her want to curl up in the sunshine and sleep.

When he receives no reply, the puppet master tilts his head to one side curiously. He wonders how this pretty little doll found her way into a base full of S-class criminals and staff. He had been looking for his partner when he'd stumbled across the little creature asleep with her head propped on the exam table, using a roll of unopened cloth bandages for a pillow.

From under the rose fringe, he was almost startled by the symmetry over her sweet face, though it doesn't show. She was thin for her age and perhaps a little too pale, but obviously well cared for, and he could help but want to touch her. Artists learn with their hands, see, and in order to create you have to learn the basics of your chosen medium – tangible in the hand, meant tangible in the mind. As his fingers ghosted over the soft planes of her rosy cheeks, he felt the musculature and bone beneath it, but not the gentle warmth - the most basic of beauties, the bones, he has a soft spot for (no pun intended). He hopes that, by feeling the way her features dip and curve and slope and straighten, he can recreate something of her complexity. He has never created a child before.

Sakura shakes her head, sending strands of pink whirling about, and attempts to clear her foggy mind. She needs food. And a sweater. On that note, she should probably find her nanny, too. She's been gone longer than she usually is and she's probably getting worried. Or not. It's hard to tell with that old lady. Shyly, peeking up from beneath the shield that is her fringe, "Can you tell me how to get to the kitchen?"

He finds it odd that someone as obviously cared for as her would need to sneak anywhere to get food, so he scraps that theory. A pet then. Maybe an after dinner treat for Zetsu. For a moment, Akasuna No Sasori nearly frowns. He doesn't really like the thought of a raw material with such potential being eaten and digested until even the bones are gone when he hasn't seen her at her full maturity. He imagines she will be effulgent.

Whatever she is, it would be wise to leave any _artistic _decisions about her until he finds out exactly why she is here. Despite this, the tingling itch that signalled inspiration still crawled down his fingers.

Making a swift decision – he detests the thought of making even this child wait - he curls his fingers in the universal gesture of '_come here'. _She does so with only a little hesitance. Sakura knows he isn't allowed to hurt her, because he's wearing Akatsuki colors, but she is intimidated by his stature and beauty and her own awe.

When she is close enough to touch, the red-head crouches in front of her and hooks a finger under her chin so she'll look him in the eye. "Tell me, Doll, who are you?"

Promptly, like she's been taught, "Haruno Sakura, sir."

"And how old are you, Doll?"

Sakura has never seen a doll. She finds it odd that he calls her one. Something inside is a little annoyed that he does not call her by her name despite the fact that she has told him it, but she answers promptly anyway, "Nearly four, sir."

Curiously now, he sees emotions flicker through the clear green of her eyes – endless like the sea off the coast of Suna on a baking hot day. Anxiousness. Fatigue. Intrigue. Awe. No fear. "And where do you live?"

_Obviously here, _she thinks, _I could have never gotten in here otherwise. _She knew because Madara had shown her the traps and how to avoid them. He didn't want her dying because she wanted to see the birds. "I live here, sir. With Kisame and Konan and Pein and Orochimaru-san and Zetsu-kun and Kakuzu sometimes, but he doesn't like me very much." No, really. The first time they met in the narrow passageway leading to the outside, he'd nearly impaled her on one of his black strings. It was scary, but watching Pein rip his left arm off was as horrifying as you'd think.

A soft gurgle from the region of her soft belly makes him quirk a crimson eyebrow. Her round cheeks turn red in embarrassment and he smiles faintly. "Are you hungry, Doll?"

.

Madara does, in fact, make it in time for Sakura's birthday. He catches her on her way back to her little room with a book under one arm and a chipped plate of some kind of dessert. Her cheeks are flushed and she is smiling brightly as she shuffles under the weight of dessert and tome.

Sakura turns sharply, and nearly drops her birthday pie and new book, when the scent of soap and leaves and mint reach her nose. She _knows _that smell. She_loves _that smell. That smell means long raven hair and pin wheel eyes and sharp, square teeth and _Madara. _She spins toward her plain little desk with its peeling paint in the corner of her room, sets down her items with rattle and a _thump _before dashing back into the seemingly empty corridor.

He does this sometimes - hides in the shadows, on the ceiling, in plain sight until she can't stand it. A grin stretches her pink tinged cheeks as she checks the ceiling, behind her door, in the corners of the hall. His scent is strong; she _knows_ he's here. Stumped, her smile fades into a contemplative look. She supposes he _could _be pulling a Zetsu and hiding under the stone...

She kicks the floor experimentally. No luck. Huffing, she puts her hands on her hips and raises her voice to the walls. "I _know _you're there!" A few seconds pass and Sakura frowns at the wall. _If he doesn't come out soon, he's not getting any of the birthday pie Kisame made me._

"Surprise." Glove-covered hands are suddenly pressed against her eyes and suddenly they are moving so fast her hair is blowing. She is laughing and clinging to his strong forearms, he sweeps one arm around her torso and covers both of her eyes with his other hand. Then they are outside and she can feel the breeze and hear the trees moving with them as they run.

This thing - the running and jumping and _flying _- this is what she wants to do when she is older. She wants to go _fast _and be _strong_. Just like Konan and Madara and Pein and Kisame. She wants to be able to run in the trees and _fight._

When they stop, Sakura is breathless and flushed and giggling – her hair a ruffled mop of petal colored strands. Madara takes his hand off of her eyes and run his fingers through her silky locks adoringly. She's grown since he saw her last. It's been months since he's seen her and spoken to her - he finds that her absence makes him cranky. The Uchiha knows that today is her fourth birthday. He does not bring her any frivolous gift.

He knows how much she loves running with him through the trees, so he took a roundabout route to the little clearing he had set up for her. From the inside of his heavy black cloak, he takes out a pack of unsharpened shuriken and kunai. He waits for his charge to stop giggling before he places them in her hands.

Surprised, Konan's daughter doesn't quite understand what she's holding. The pack is the standard black with loops on the back to be tied to bandages on the thigh or a belt. Considering her size it would not fit around one of her thighs yet, one day it would. Unclipping it easily, she peers inside curiously. In the moonlight, the new weapons gleam in a way that is almost too attractive for instruments of pain. Confused, she looks to Madara for answers. Crouching to her level, he takes a dull kunai out of the holster.

Holding it in front of her nose to make sure she's paying close attention, he focuses on the target. Her viridian eyes zero in on the not-so-deadly-yet weapon. She gasps audibly when it goes whizzing past her ear and lands with a solid _thunk _in the tree behind her. Nearly giving herself whiplash to see where it had landed, she was amazed to see the blade buried completely in the centre of a black and white target pinned to one of the nearby trees.

Gently turning her chin back to him, Madara grins at the little girl grimly, but with a hint of wicked delight. The tomoe of his sharingan spin slowly in the darkness and all Sakura can see of him is the red and white glow of his skin and eyes. Just like a target.

"For your birthday," he stands straight and towers over her completely. She trusts him wholly - in the way only children can - but she feels small and a little threatened by his height and skill. "I am going to show you how to save your own life."

.

Much later, when Konan enters the base after a long mission (she checks on the girl as soon as she gets home; no other task is more urgent), she finds Sakura curled under her crisp white covers clutching a black thigh holster and looking utterly, angelically peaceful. She doesn't need to ask Sakura to know who gave it to her.

Fear, the type that comes in black waves, leaving a dark, coppery taste on the tongue like bile, crashes against the lining of her stomach - making her gag a little. Kami, he was _here _with her _baby_ and if he wants to hurt her or torture her or _anything _no one can stop him.

Amber eyes tightening in the darkness, the mother hovers over her child. Gently, she takes the holster from her limp fingers and places it on her worn desk. She fixes her blankets so they are tucked around her, just as she likes it. Sakura's soft breathing quell some of the fear that his proximity causes, but when she shifts, Konan sees that her daughter is wrapped in one of Madara's old black cloaks. She is sure it's been blood-spattered and stabbed and run-through and so many horrible things that a child – even one so enraptured with medical textbooks – should have no knowledge of. Sakura is unaware of this inner conflict and buries her nose in the fabric and sighs. The kunoichi feels sick, helpless – something she is entirely unaccustomed to.

Hanging around the cloak in a malevolent cloud is a nearly tangible message - one that Sakura can't possibly be able to pick up on, one that makes her mother retch.

_"Mine."_

**

* * *

**A/N: I wrote this in a night, people. Goddamn. Not as fun as you'd think. Sorry if any of the character's seem OOC; I've never written them before, I swear. I don't know how Sasori turned into an Adonis. It just sort of...happened. I don't even read that much of him, honestly. Its those damn Uchiha's I fawn over. :D

A massive thanks to beta, Ophelialovesthefishes, for being wonderful and slobbering all over this when she probably has better things to do with her time. I HEART YOU BABEH.


	4. Cynosure

**Cynosure **(SY-nuh-shoor; SIN-uh-shoor) noun:

1. An object that serves as a focal point of attention and admiration.

2. That which serves to guide or direct.

3. [Capitalized]. The northern constellation Ursa Minor, which contains the North Star; also, the North Star itself.

* * *

Haruno Sakura is a great many things.

Strong willed. Determined. Naive. Innocent. Practical. Smart. So many things. Hoshigaki Kisame was well aware of the fact that one day, when she is older, she's going to probably leave them. Or try to, anyway. One day she's going find a _boy _and fall in _love_ and _leave them _- because she is going to be very pretty and sweet and strong and _goddamn it they're going to let her go._

The only way to keep her tethered to them would be to fork her off one of their own. Which...just wouldn't work.

Glancing at the boy beside him, he thinks this more firmly. Like _hell _she was being let near any of those psychos. Uchiha Itachi, nearly fourteen, wouldn't even get a fucking _chance in hell. _Samehada, strapped to his back still, vibrates violently in agreement. He doesn't care what Sakura says, because _ha ha _they haven't met yet! And if he (Sasori, Konan, and possibly Pein) have any say in it, they never will.

"Take _that,_ pretty boy." The prodigy glances at him with reproachful scarlet eyes, but doesn't comment on the weird outburst. Kisame clears his throat awkwardly. He hadn't meant to say that. "So, anyway, this is the kitchen and two lefts from here is my room." _And one right turn after that is Sakura's._

His new partner nods, damn near imperceptibly. The kid is creepily still at all times, but always watchful. The former Kiri-nin is at a loss as far as conversation goes, so he lets the silence continue. The base is mostly empty of members at the moment and he wonders where Sakura is. Probably out training as best she can. He helps her whenever he can, but mostly she has to teach herself and learn from whatever books she can acquire – she has already been through most of the ones in the base. Maybe the independence is good for her. He's not sure yet.

They pass the common quarters where some of the Akatsuki (and Sakura) lounge in their free time. Somewhere down the hall a crash sounds, and echoes through the empty corridors loudly enough to make the boy beside him blink sharply; this apparently his equivalent to surprise. A little girl's voice rings out, high and wavering with anger, "I most certainly will _not!" _Kisame flinches and tries to play it off by taking the opposite hall instead because _crap _that was Sakura fighting with her nanny again.

He knows that Sakura is very calm child most of the time - and creepily logical sometimes, too - so the nanny must have _really _done something this time. He glances at his still partner, gauging his reaction. There is now mild interest in his eyes - which is _not good. _The two are too close in age - what happens if (Kami help him) Sakura develops some sort of...like, _crush? _He's fairly certain his blue head would explode. Another crash, closer this time. The voices are louder.

"You spoiled brat! If you were my child, I'd beat you black and blue!" _Hoshit. _When Konan hears about that one she's going to flip one _hell _of a bitch.

"Just _try _it, you crotchety old bat!" Kisame attempts to smothers a grin, but fails miserably. He knows that the pink haired little tyke is ferocious when she wants to be. The old bag would be down in seconds.

Itachi peers down the hall and opens his perfectly symmetrical mouth to ask a question; Kisame beats him to it. He says, "Don't worry about it, man." and attempts to steer them towards the opposite direction. He is pleased that he managed to refrain from calling him "little man" because that did not seem to go down particularly well last time – at least, as far as he could tell. Maybe after they had been partnered for a while he would be able to read the Noh mask that was his partner's face better.

From down the corridor he can see a speeding pink blur. Headed straight for them. If there is anything he knows about his Squirt, it's that, when she's angry, she has _no idea _where she's going. At all. Like some kind of tiny pink train stuck on a rail from which she cannot deviate. Before he could react and tell Itachi to _get the hell out of her way, _the monster was upon them.

The small mass of pink crashes directly into Itachi's knee caps, though the young prodigy makes an attempt to move there is no room in the narrow, dishearteningly low corridor. Unfortunately for her, the only place left to go after that is on the floor - luckily, though, she has a great blue protector to save her from some serious butt-bruising. A big blue hand snaps out and lifts her by the collar so they are eye-level. Disoriented, she thrashes for a moment, hitting nothing but air and probably just managing to tire herself out. Her head hurts from whatever she hit and she's _crying _because she's _furious._

"Hey, Squirt, what have I said about running when you're angry?"

She bites out: "Don't do it."

"Good. Now," he sets her on her own feet and crouches down to her level as best he can manage – he doesn't get that close to her diminutive height, but it is close enough. She is shaking and her pretty, wide green eyes are glass and red rimmed from tears and her hair is a _disaster, _"what has the old bat done now?"

"She _stole _my weapons! She says she's going to make a _lady _and ladies don't play with knives or get mud on their nice clothes or ruin their hair - but, Kisame, I don't _want _to be a lady! I want to be just like Konan!" She doesn't tell him, but she's also angry because Madara _gave _her those and that means they are precious - not to mention how _disappointed _he'll be when he comes back and finds she hasn't improved since he saw her last! Kami, it's her worst nightmare.

Kisame finds it amusing that she's so angry that she hasn't even noticed their newest member yet. Maybe, if he plays this right, she never will.

Itachi, for the most part, takes the whole thing in with only a blink. No one notices that his breathing is just a fraction faster than normal and that his eyes - pretty things with their pinwheels and crimson coloring and long, dark lashes - are completely zeroed in on the little girl that crashed right into him. There is a little girl in the Akatsuki base.

No. That can't be right. She has to be some sort of bait. These S-class criminals would not keep a pink-haired little girl with them. No. Even with his lightning fast mind, he had difficulty working out exactly who she could be.

His breathing is a little laboured because she is just about Sasuke's age and her eyes, though lit in anger, are wide and innocent - just like his little brothers'. Just like his Mother and the few little girls his clan produced. She is too close, too close, and the massacre was not so long ago. In his mind's eye, he can see her bleeding – he would kill her close, personal. The part of his mind dedicated to suppressing emotions began to kick into overdrive.

Kisame was speaking, "...and stash some in secret places, too. But I'm sure Konan will want to talk to her later, too."

A heavy-set woman with a salt and pepper braid – more the latter than the former - swinging behind her, rushed down the hall, her beady eyes zoned in on the girl. Her face is aged and slightly sweaty, there is a bitter set to her mouth that reminds the Uchiha heir of a fishwife, but she is dressed very primly and neatly with a few tasteful, discrete pieces of jewellery. She bows quickly to the men and puts her calloused hand on the kid's shoulder with a little more force than is strictly necessary.

"I am so sorry she's bothering you, Hoshigaki-sama. I will take her back to her room so she won't continue to be nuisance." Sakura squawks indignantly and jerks out of the woman's bruising hold. Kisame puts one of his large hands atop her head, the startling contrast between her hair and his skin devastatingly clear, and guides her to stand in front of him, facing the nanny with a united front.

This woman was relatively new, only a few weeks in service, and she was on a fast-track to getting herself killed. The last one had nearly gotten her hand chopped off for drinking on the job. (Apparently, it's damn hard to find good help in Ame.)

"You know," the shark man begins, his tone deceivingly flippant. "she isn't a bother at all. In fact, I like her a hellavu lot more than I like you."

The woman puffs up and seems to miss the underlying threat in his voice entirely. "Hoshigaki-sama, I am a very capable nanny. I have turned little monsters into refined ladies plenty of times - and Sakura is no different. I will not tolerate such raucous behavior as playing shinobi or rolling around in the dirt like a filthy little pig."

"Yeah, well you _suck._" Sakura plants her hands on her hips in a way that might be threatening when she is grown and growls at the woman. "I don't _want _to be lady, so you can quit trying to make me!"

Kisame gently pats her head, proud that she knows how to stand up for herself. "Listen granny, Sakura-chan isn't going to ever be a lady. She is going to be a kunoichi, so she can go train and roll in the dirt all she wants."

As they trio watched, the nanny's face turned an ugly, splotchy purple color. She glares hard at the ex Kiri-nin but when his pale gaze becomes too intimidating, she shifted it to the youngest of the three. All in all, the girl wasn't that bad of a child. She didn't fuss and throw tantrums, she minded her manners most of the time, and all she really wanted to do was read and train. Unfortunately, the nanny had been taught to rear young ladies who would bring gentleness and poise to society, not sharp weapons and warfare. She had hid her pointy things on top of the fridge in the kitchen - place where she knew Sakura couldn't reach and probably wouldn't look.

No one in this place knows how to raise a child properly - but it's not like they are there often enough to spend time with her anyway. The girl is practically raising herself!

"I...apologize, Hoshigaki-sama." She bows deeply, but the biting anger and hint of sarcasm never leaves her eyes. She shoots Sakura one last withering stare before turning tail and walking briskly down the hall, presumably to clean up the mess Sakura had left when searching for her missing possessions.

With his hand still planted on her head, Kisame can feel when she relaxes. Her clear voice, now back to usual chipper (and sometimes a little sarcastic, too) tone rings clear in the dim passageway, "Well, now that that's over - can you _please _help me find my pouch?"

"Sure, Squirt - just after I finish showing-" _Fuck. _It's too late to take it back and _crap _Sakura is too perceptive and suddenly she's glancing behind him and nononono she's seen him!

Her lily white forehead creases a little when she finally meets the newest member's eyes. Her emerald ones widen hugely and Itachi is mildly alarmed to see her pupils dilate when she recognizes the black and red pattern of the Sharingan. He is unable to tell whether it is from fear, or excitement, but stores her reaction in the back of his mind for later examination. She manages to catch herself just before running to hug him because _whoa _this is _not _Madara. He's too short, his shoulders not nearly as wide, his features too refined to be her Madara. They have the same eyes, though, and she wonders if they're related. They even have the same color hair, although Madara's seems more rough - not mention way more spiky and short.

"Uh, Sakura-chan, this is my new partner - Uchiha Itachi. Itachi, this is Haruno Sakura." Kisame feels like banging his big blue head against something hard - like a brick wall or something.

Sakura bows politely, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Uchiha-san." Something about him seemed very sad to the younger girl. She's fairly certain he needs a hug - or so she's read. I mean, it's not like she gets all that much physical affection from her family. Konan hugs her delicately sometimes and Madara likes to pet her hair and entwine her fingers with his own and, sure, she gets the occasional piggy-back ride from Kisame - but that's about it. Maybe she could sneak one.

Itachi's crimson gaze was intense and completely focused on Sakura. He is a little fascinated by the fact that she hadn't thrown a fit when Kisame told her she'd have to wait. Sasuke would have. He would have stomped his foot and stuck out his bottom lip and sulked in corner until he got what he wanted. He had no idea what her nanny was talking about - as far as he could tell, she seemed almost...sweet. That thought snapped to a close almost the moment it started.

"And you, Sakura-san." Kisame watched him warily. He knows how cute six year old Sakura is and he'll be damned if he's going to share.

.

Sakura sits on a rough wooden workbench – swinging her legs back and forth with her hands planted on either side of her. It's been two weeks since she met Itachi and her mind is still buzzing about the possibilities. If Madara has a son that he never told her about, she's not going even say hello to him next he's in base. She thinks that he must be old enough to have fathered Itachi, but is not exactly sure. Her feet swing back and forth under the bench that Sasori cleared for her in a steady rhythm that doesn't match the hectic pace of her thoughts.

The puppet master sits cross-legged on the floor before her, painstakingly carving a wooden figure. Sakura watches avidly as he uses a small, curved knife to define each strand of hair on the figures head. "Sasori-kun," she picks up a wood shaving and inspects it carefully. "What're you carving, anyway? I've been sitting here for hours!"

Without looking up, "It's only been twenty minutes, Sakura."

"Well it feels like hours upon _hours." _She drops the wood shaving and sighs dramatically, sagging in her seat. "You said you were going to have a surprise for me..."

"And I do," He plucks a knife so small it could pass for a needle off of his worktable and gets to work on the eyes - they have to be flawless. "But you must be patient."

"But I'm _not _patient!"

"I noticed." His lips curve in a smile when his doll responds with a loud raspberry. "Talk to me. Finish telling me about what happened with your nanny." He doesn't need to look up to know that she's grinning.

"Okay, so I told you about how she hid my kunai pack from me, right?"

"Twice."

"And how she yelled at me and then I yelled at her and then Kisame totally _burned _her?"

"Yes." Working on the lips now, gently sloping - like Cupid's bow.

"Well, Kisame told Pein and Pein told Konan - Konan got really. really, _reallyreallyreally _mad at her. She didn't yell - because she's way too cool for that, see - but nanny got really stuttery and clammy and I thought maybe she was going to throw up."

"Konan can be a very scary woman, Sakura." Switching knives, he starts carving the figure's arms - in motion, lunging, fierce.

"I _know! _But Konan made Zetsu take me out to his garden after that, so I didn't get to see what happened. I don't have a nanny anymore, 'cause Konan's not sure I really need one - since I run away from mine so often anyway." Hands on her slightly scraped knees, she leans forward to try and see what the red-head is doing. All she could see was a tan...blobby thing.

"I'm sure it's for the best." Switching knives once more, he begins on the soft lines of the torso. "How is the Uchiha? I have yet to meet him."

Sakura fidgets with the hem of her black shorts nervously. "Um, he's not so bad, I guess. Seems really sad to me. I dunno. I don't think he likes me much."

At this, he glances up. There is a distressed twist to her lips that he doesn't like at all - it throws off the symmetry of her whole face. "And why would you think that?"

Feeling his scrutiny, she ducks her head to hide the blush blooming across her cheeks. "He just...I don't know. Whenever I say hi to him or try to be nice, he kind just stares - like I'm a freak or something and walks away."

He starts on the legs and frowns. The Uchiha must have something wrong with him. If even _Orochimaru _can stand her, there should be no reason this boy can't. "There must be a very sensible reason, Sakura."

"But, Sasori-kun," He looks up sharply because suddenly her voice has gone shaky and there is a noticeable change in the atmosphere. "did I do something wrong? Am I ugly or something?"

Startled, he puts down the figure and his knife. "Doll, you are most assuredly _not _ugly. I highly doubt you did anything wrong, either."

Apparently that doesn't quite do the trick - because she's been trying _so _hard to be his friend and he doesn't want anything to do with her. Maybe she smells. Her bottom lip trembles at the thought. Wouldn't someone have told her if she was smelly? Obviously not.

Sensing the direction of her thoughts, the former Suna-nin stands and scoops her into his cool arms like the doll she is. "Sakura," Watery green eyes focus on him and he carefully swipes a thumb under her eye to catch a tear. "Sakura. If he does not wish to have the pleasure of your presence, then that is his loss. Ask anybody and they will say the same thing. Especially Kisame-san. You _know _how much he adores you."

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts," he says firmly as he sets her back on the bench. "the misguided opinion of one boy should hardly be counted when you have dozens of others who care for you. Right?"

Swiping at her eyes, "O-okay..."

"Now, would you like to see your surprise?"

She brightens immediately, the only traces of her earlier tears being the light pink tinge to the whites of her eyes and the slightly shining wet tracks down her rosy cheeks. "Yes please!" Blowing some sawdust out of the smaller cracks, he hands the carving to her gently and sits gracefully beside her to watch her reaction – he is sure her expression will be worth recreating.

"Who...is it?" she asks, awed. It is a figure of a woman in action - hair blowing, mid-leap, arm extended as if to deal a crushing blow to an enemy, her eyes are determined and very, very pretty. She has no forehead protector.

"That," Sasori tangles his hand in her pink strands fondly. "is you. Ten or so years from now."

Sakura looks at him sceptically. There is no way she will ever look like the figure. This woman too pretty, too ethereal.

What Sakura doesn't know is that Sasori, through his many years of collecting and creating puppets of every race, age, size, and shape, has come to have a very good understanding of how the face and body age. He knows that Sakura's forehead is going to get smaller, he knows that her cheekbones are going to rise and her chin is going to sharpen, he knows that she will have curves and dancer's legs. She will be delicate. All soft lines and fragile bones.

She will be beautiful in a quiet way. The beauty that most don't notice until its wrapped around you, trapped you, devoured you. Something that only blooms in a startling revelation – the kind of beauty that was shown through actions, movements, the spontaneity of expression. Not for the first time, Sasori considers his collection and the place he has left in his mind for her – when she is grown, should she fall in battle. She will be startling - body and mind contrasting sharply with your expectations. And even then he is sure she will be modest about it.

"Am I really going to be that pretty?" she whispers uncertainly.

"I have no doubt that you will outshine even Konan." He watches as she run a small finger over the carved fist. _Stronger, too._

"Wow."

.

Uchiha Madara is a very primal man. Always had been. You could say it ran in the family. In fact, it seems that the more talented and prodigal the Uchiha was, the more feral they were – even if they often hid it well. It was probably a product of too many inter-clan unions. You can take "keep it in the family" for only so long before you start producing two-headed offspring and pure psychopaths like Itachi.

Sakura twisted fretfully in her sleep and turned to nuzzle her face into his chest like a large, pink kitten as though to reassure herself that he was still there. Madara thinks that, had the Uchiha clan been living - he smiles smugly - and had Sakura been born in Konoha, she would have been a very good candidate for marriage. She would have been paired off to one of the higher standing members - that brat Shisui, or maybe Sasuke - and started breeding little green-eyed Uchiha babies immediately after. The clan would have been happy to have her - good genes, no prior connection to the clan, pretty, gentle, good manners, and no bloodline limit to speak of – so far – that would get in the way of the Sharingan. They would have tried to mould her to fit the Uchiha standard.

Burying his one hand in her hair and keeping her close with the other on her back, he thinks that maybe that wouldn't have been so bad - if he had still been the leader, that is. He would have picked her husband for her. Someone worthy. One of his closer relatives. Or him.

His more animalistic side knows, innately, that she will grow up to be very mate-able woman – strong, _fertile_. Much too young now, of course - but give it ten or so years and she'll be ripe for the picking. He's not quite sure what he's going to do when she decides she likes a boy. Probably kill him and say he ran off with someone else... then be there to pick up the pieces.

Now, if it was someone within the organization, that'd be another story. Depends on who it is and what stage his plan is in. Who knows, he may need her for something.

The girl buries her nose in his cloak, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then sighs in a contented manner. She loves the way he smells and he knows it. He supposes she has been conditioned that way – he knows he has held her more than her own mother and that his appearances – far apart enough to be special – are usually accompanied by things she enjoyed – attention, teaching, affection... Smiling wickedly, he curls his whole body around her sleeping form - covering her, petal coloured head to tiny foot, in his smell. It makes his primal side rumble in satisfaction; knowing that she will be around other males and still have him all over her. She is too small to appreciate it yet, but when she is older he will be more..._thorough._

For now, he is content to leave little pieces of himself on her. One of his old cloaks is slung over the back of her desk chair. The holster full of weapons sits next to her bed. She is sleeping in one of his old shirts at this very moment. Slowly but surely, he is carving a permanent niche for himself in her life. She will never remember a time when he was not there in some form. When he thinks about letting some other male take that spot from him, it leaves a sour, bitter taste in his mouth like the black, coppery taste of holding a kunai in the mouth. Like hell he'd ever give her up. Someday, she may be the cynosure of his plans. Who knows?

"Madara," she mumbles into his shirt, half asleep. "you gonna leave soon?"

He breathes into her cotton candy hair, "No Sakura-chan, I will be here for a long, long time."

Sleepily, she sighs. He can feel her lips curve into a smile against his chest. "Good."

* * *

A/N: Whoa damn, son! three updates in - what? - two weeks. You can thank the flu. Its kept me home from school and forced me to have some quality time with my computer. :D

As for the chapter: Madara is a creep, isn't he? Also. FUCK. Itachi is hard to write. I swear to _God, _I must have rewritten his bits at least six times - and it wasn't until my super gorgeous BetaLadyPimp, Ophelialovesthefishes, added some awesome lines in there that he really came together. So. Thank her. A lot. Seriously, if it wasn't for her, all 'o this would be a pile of mush. BLAH.

You rock my socks Phe!

EDIT: Ugh. I forgot to thank you guys for all the reviews! I love them. Also, thank you to the anonymous reviewer who left me those super long comments last night! Thanks so much, Anonymous. (People, the longer the review the better - just saying.) Oh, and I also thought it was hilarious that she/he was the only one to comment about Kisame's mad birthday pie-making skillz. LOL. :D


	5. Skulduggery

**skulduggery **(skul-DUG-uh-ree) noun:

1. Devious, dishonest, or unscrupulous behaviour or activity; also: an instance thereof.

* * *

"Uchiha-san?" Softly whispered, a voice from his doorway.

He considers telling her to go away, to leave, because there is only one person that could be, but decides against it when he hears her breath shudder, colored with pain. The coppery tang of blood, a scent easily recognizable to one such as him, drifts into the room, mingling with the steam from his quick shower. Quickly covering his damp torso in a plain black shirt - no Uchiha symbol emblazed on the back like in days past - and turns to face the little girl that is watching him anxiously with wide eyes.

She hovers in the doorway of his chamber, eyes shining with unshed tears due to follow the shimmering tracks of others down her normally rosy cheeks. Blood drips from the parallel slices on her palms even as he watches – obviously the reason for her visit. Under his scrutiny her plump lower lip trembles. He knows this injury, but not from personal experience; it is a common one amongst young academy students - the product of clumsy training with sharp kunai.

"I-I'd w-wrap myself, b-but..." Her tears make it hard to speak, her voice wobbling as precariously as her pale little legs and he is reminded that he is the only one on base at the moment and no one really bothers to teach her the proper way to hold her weapons anyway. She has enough foresight to keep her hands cupped to keep blood off of the floor, but there is a steadily growing puddle of drops on his doorjamb.

It gleams blackly in the light – like spilled ink – and the sight of her near it unsettles him a little, the serene pool of his emotions rippling slightly. He decides that his cover will not be broken by aiding one little girl. Especially considering the fact that it is likely no one will hear about it.

Without a word, he grabs his semi-wet towel off of his bed and crosses over to her with long, languid strides. She whimpers pitifully – all pretence of being brave dropped - when the Uchiha heir wraps her tiny hands carefully together in the towel. It occurs to him that he should perhaps be a little rough with her to discourage her from seeking him out again because an attachment to anyone, however slight, would only complicate things.

Itachi remains gentle despite this fleeting thought.

Sakura is crying openly now because _ow. _She knew she shouldn't have been throwing the newly-sharpened kunai Kisame had given her, but she had anyway and one wouldn't come out of the target – and next thing she knows, she's pulling with all her might and it's yanked out and slid right out of her hands, slicing them to ribbons.

For a moment, she stares blankly at the red blood welling at the surface like water then the pain sets in.

Madara had _warned _her about doing that. He said to just leave it there she couldn't get it out herself. She hadn't and if he found out, he'd _so disappointed. _Not to mention that the last time she had injured herself, he had been furious. She cries harder when she thinks about what he's going to say when he finds out.

With no one else to go to, she seeks out the young Uchiha who had always looked at her with such disdain it burned hot and prickly. The way he quickly and efficiently deals with her wounds does not ease the wriggling guilt about what Madara will do when he finds out, but she is surprised by how gently he treats her. Despite his soft actions, there is a hardness behind his glittering eyes that makes her stare at the floor rather than look at him.

The Uchiha murderer wrinkles his brow, ever so slightly, in consternation. The wounds were superficial, nothing too serious. Why was she crying? _Shock, maybe. _He can't remember when he'd ever seen her hurt herself - besides the time with oven - so it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to say she'd never been in any serious pain before.

He had seen her carrying around heavy medical textbooks before - he suspects they are filched from Orochimaru's person collection, but he never checked - but who knows how much she really comprehends. For all he knows, she could think she's going to die from this. He mentally grimaces at the thought of trying to comfort a child. He can remember going through something similar with Sasuke.

"You will be fine, Sakura." he says, leading her to his desk chair while keeping constant pressure on her hands via the towel. He tries not to look into her watery eyes - the color of new grass, he thinks, crisp and sweet - when he peels the cloth from her hands and reaches for the clean bandages he keeps in the second draw of the plain, functional desk.

Sakura is wailing now, a high pitched wavering tone he has never heard her use, "But he'll be so _angry _with me!"

Cupping one of her small hands in his much larger, battle roughened one; Itachi begins cleaning the wound with basic antiseptic. This would sting a little, but she doesn't seem to react. He is happy to see the blood already starting to clot around the thin slices. "Whom?" He notices her freeze and snaps full attention to her next words. The icy prickle of suspicion crawls up his spine before he can stop it.

"Um," Hiccupping, she won't meet his eyes, and Itachi doesn't need to use the Sharingan to detect signs of her deception, "L-Leader-sama..."

_She's a terrible liar._

Crimson eyes scan her small face in a smooth, clinical sweep, trying to figure out what she could be hiding. There are plenty of "he's" in Akatsuki, but he can't think of any reason she would feel the need to lie about any of them. Most of them did have hair-string tempers, but he can only think of one of them she'd need to worry about - and he doubts that Orochimaru would even care if she hurt herself anyway. All of the rest seemed to be wrapped around little finger in varying degrees.

Slowly, deliberately, he wraps the bandage around her hand.

In fact, the only one she wasn't close to on some level was himself. At first, it had been about Sasuke and memories and how very young and innocent she was. The fact that he did not tend to seek company did not help matters either. But as months went by, it became more about her. She was too sunny, too sweet, too smart to be held with S-Class criminals. Kisame had mentioned his theories, once.

The shark man had said there were only two ways she could have ended up there: She was orphaned and Konan/Leader-sama had saved her. Not exactly_likely, _but you never know. The other theory, the more probable one, was that she was born to either Pein or Konan (or _both)_. She certainly seemed to have Konan's mouth and nose, but neither of them had green eyes like her's. There was also the fact that she was very young, and although Itachi knew relatively little of children he did know that her features could change dramatically as she aged. The resemblance to Konan might only have been seen because it was being looked for.

He had considered, more than once over the past few months, spiriting her away to somewhere she'd be safe. Konoha. She could grow up in the loving arms of a childless family somewhere and probably insist attending the academy. She wouldn't be raised by dangerous psychopaths like himself – though it wasn't as though they were particularly raising her to start with.

It wasn't possible, however. It wasn't even conceivable. Just one of the many scenarios his razor sharp mind flitted through in spare moments. They would know immediately who took her and everything he had done, everything he had sacrificed for, would be for naught. He couldn't risk that for anyone.

Moving on to the other hand, Itachi wonders about how she really came to be with them. He saw Konan in her face and hands, but there was someone else there, too. He saw it in the color of her eyes, the gentle set to her jaw. There was no Pein in Sakura. The girl held no poise or grace, no coldly calculating demeanour. She was a baby bird in a den of hungry lions and that seemed like the way it would remain.

He is not the most approachable of people, but he doesn't quite understand why Sakura seems to dislike him enough to be afraid of coming to him for aid. It's somewhat disturbing, now that he allows himself to think on it. She seemed to even prefer _Orochimaru _over himself. The Uchiha didn't avoid her like the plague, as he used to, but she seemed to hold something against him.

"Sakura," he says slowly, testing the air between them, "Do you dislike me?"

Taken off guard, Sakura says the first thing that comes to her, parroting Sasori, "The misguided opinion of one boy should hardly be counted when you have dozens of others who care about you." Itachi opens his mouth to respond, one, thin, black eyebrow raised the tiniest fraction, but he is taken by surprise when she says, "I don't dislike _you, _Uchiha-san. _You _dislike _me."_

"That..." He has to collect his thoughts for a moment, try to find the words among his vast vocabulary. He hasn't spoken this much in months and he is sure that shows in the slight metallic rasp that hovers beneath his voice. "Is not true, Sakura-san."

Sakura grimaces. Maybe that was the truth - maybe he didn't want to be friends with her because she smelled. The momentary shock of hearing him speak to her passes quickly and in its place comes an awkward nervousness that makes her fidget.

Not once had she ever had any sort of confrontation with any of the Akatsuki. Orochimaru's big snake tried to eat her once and Kakuzu took a swing at her, but that had been because she surprised them - not because they genuinely disliked her. Itachi was different. He avoided her. He didn't speak to her. He wouldn't even look her in the eye.

She mumbles, "Thank you for wrapping my hands, Uchiha-san."

At a loss for words, and unwilling to open up any further conversation, he settles for a noncommittal _hn. _She has given him more than enough to ponder for now.

.

The first time Sakura sees a village, she is with Kisame and it is an experience that features prominently in her early memories.

For the first time in months, it is not raining and the sky is the clear crisp boundless blue that Sakura has only seen a handful of times. He asks Konan - Sakura's main care-taker, if not mother - if he can take her to the summer festival. He had planned on inviting all members on base - Sasori, Orochimaru, and that creepy kid known as Itachi. Konan had given him the go-ahead, but only Sasori had accepted. Not particularly surprising, that.

He would've had to of been blind to not notice the heavy, brittle tension between his little pink friend and his young partner. The teen seemed to avoid her like she was one of those fawning females that seemed to spring out of nowhere whenever they were near a populated area. Initially, Sakura seemed to take great offense to his blatant avoidance, but seemed to have moved on to more responsive playmates. Kisame and Sasori, mostly. The shark-man was fairly certain that she got her flippant and sometimes scathing attitude toward Itachi from the red-headed puppet master.

Orochimaru was self-explanatory, even if he had been acting a little bit..._twitchier _than normal.

Sakura had been ecstatic – shrieking in a way that set his teeth on edge, and dancing around the room before she caught herself and thanked him in a dignified manner obviously copied from Konan. All she had ever known of the outside world was the various bases set up along Ame's borders - never an actual village. Not even a glimpse. Whenever they changed bases, it was always in the dead of night and for the most part when she is asleep. After the fourth night-scramble, as she'd come to call them, it had stopped being so disorienting. It was exciting, waking up to a different ceiling, bed, _home._

However, the excitement of a new base could _never _compare to the sight of her first village.

Sitting upon the great broad shoulders of her best friend, clutching his spiky navy hair between young fingers, Sakura wonders how she can ever go back to sleeping underground again. Natsu is a small border town with mostly farmers and textile workers – unimpressive and suffering in the move towards industrial textile production - but to the six year old, it is the greatest place on Earth.

Lamps are strung on every post, streamers on every surface, like a thousand enormous fireflies. Food stands and merchants are propped at every corner filling the air with the scents of sweet and spicy foods. The whole place seems to _glow _with light and sound and lurid colour_. _People flow through the streets like water in a stream - so many people; by Kami she has never seen so many faces! Everyone seems to be chattering at once and the noise reminds Sakura of the buzz of bees. (You know, before Kisame shot water at the hive and killed them all after one had come too close to stinging her.)

They weave through the crowd slowly, letting her take in the sights and sounds slowly. The people part for them, eyeing their Akatsuki cloaks respectfully and the little girl with mild reverence. It's no secret the God and his Angel had created a child - one of unique coloring and vibrancy. The people of Rain simply know her as the Little Angel, though she is more of a rumour than anything else.

Sasori regards the villagers warily, watching for anything suspicious. Kami only knows what these inbred, country brutes are capable of.

"So," Kisame pats one of her tiny dangling feet affectionately. "What d'ya think, Squirt?" He feels her shift on his shoulders a second before her vibrant hair covers his field of vision and her jade-colored eyes are upside down and staring seriously into his.

"Why," she starts solemnly, "have I never been here before?"

Absently flicking a tickling strand of cotton candy hair from his nose, "Um, I don't really know. Busy, I guess." When his little ward squawked indignantly he rushed to continue before she began to rant. "But, you know, mostly it was Konan. She's protective and all that. Wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

Sitting up properly once more despite the slow swaying of the shoulders beneath her, Sakura crinkled her brow in confusion. She looked to her red-headed friend, "But, Sasori-kun, why would she? I have you guys."

Squeezing her ankle lightly instead of his usual head-pat, Kisame can't imagine loving his little Squirt any more. She would have him to protect her - always and forever. Be it from rabid nin, demons straight from the bowels of Hell, or the depraved males that would eventually dare to sully her innocence - he would be there to beat every one of them away.

Thoughts running a similar course, Sasori feels his lips tug upwards in a soft smile. "Of course you do, Sakura-chan. We will always protect you - but she loves you. You always want to protect the ones you love."

(When Sakura thinks back on those words much, much later it makes her laugh. If they had known how much that statement would shape her, she is sure Sasori would have most likely sewn his own wooden lips shut.)

Something like an epiphany flashes across the backs of her eyes in a lightning flash. She loves them. She _loves_ them. Even though they aren't around much and they fight each other a lot and are really annoying sometimes - she loves them. She wants to protect them. She wants to keep them together forever. And...

And they love her, too.

With something terrifyingly close to a squeal, Sakura wraps her thin girlish arms, clad in a brand new kimono, around her best friend's big blue head - blinding him and stunning Sasori with her speed and high pitch. "I _love _you guys!"

Stumbling while trying to gently pull her arms from his face, the ex Kiri-nin manages to knock down a cart full of souvenirs, a teenage boy carrying a bouquet, and two small children. "Kid! I need to _see!"_

Sasori, artfully avoiding the chaos left in the wake of the duo like the shinobi he was, appears behind them and swiftly lifts his doll from Kisame's shoulders. Squeaking in surprise, Sakura spins in mid-air and nearly lands a solid kick to his beautifully carved nose. Surprised by her quick reflexes, her drops her instinctively.

Just barely landing on her feet, Sakura crouches in the defensive position Madara taught her with a startlingly feline like grace. Feet apart, bent low, chin up, arms loose and hands at the level of your hips. Her actions stem from muscle memory and instinct - her body recognizing that someone she couldn't see was touching her and trying to take her away from safety.

When the dizziness from all the jostling stopped and Sakura looked up to see a befuddled Sasori, she blinked. "Oh," straightening to her small height, she smiles sheepishly up at her friend. "sorry, Sasori-kun. I thought you were bad nin!"

Kind of stunned, the puppet master stares blankly down at the little girl he had always assumed was totally defenceless. He had _known _she was training, but it had always been a sort of abstract knowledge - accepted, but never really acknowledged. It had never been a tangible thought - her someday being a true kunoichi. Fighting, bleeding, _winning._

One day she would be out on a battle field, bloody and battered, fighting for her life. Most likely without them. Holy Hell. What if he didn't get there in time to preserve her heart? She'd be absolutely and completely gone.

Unaware of his fellow Akatsuki members' revelation, Kisame lumbers back to them, his hands on his hips and an irritated expression on his face. "Squirt! I swear, you will be the death of me one day. You can't just go and blind a man in the middle of a crowded street! I nearly crushed that kid with the flowers and the guy with the cart almost peed his pants when I crashed into him."

"Sorry, Kisame-kun!" Clasping her hands behind her back with a sheepish grin and rocking backwards on her small feet, Sakura looked to be the picture of innocence. "I just wanted to show you how much I loved you!"

Anger leaving him in a great sigh, Kisame ran a large hand over his face in exasperation. How the hell was he supposed to stay mad at _that? _"_Fine. _Just, next time, don't hug the face. Hug a leg or something." Glancing to the left of the street, over the heads of everyone attending the festival, he noticed a colorful green and pink display and smiled with all of his pointed teeth. "Hey, Squirt, av'you ever had dango?"

.

The smoke was the first thing Sakura noticed.

She had been asleep in Sasori's arms when she started to cough. They were running - so fast that the trees blended with the night in a smear of purples and browns. Normally, she would have enjoyed the ride, but her instincts were screaming at her - something Very Bad had happened.

When they finally reached the base, it was nearly consumed in black flames. Itachi's Amaterasu roared upward as it ate the structure to its underground foundations.

The glade was decimated. Several unfortunate trees looked to have been through a shredder, what looked to be a rather sizeable chunk of wall had somehow ended up a good thirty feet from the main structure, and strewn across the ground in great oozing heaps was one of Orochimaru's massive snakes. The remnants of what appeared to be a battle all around him, Itachi stood tall and unmoved. Expression completely devoid of emotion, hair unbound and twisting like snakes in the breeze, made him seem like some sort of demi-god of destruction.

"Well _shit_." Kisame growled. He did _not _want break in another partner. "What the hell happened here, man?"

Sasori curled himself tighter around his charge. He couldn't risk putting her down and she could crawl onto his back - most of his weapons were stored there, almost all of them dipped in some sort of deadly poison. The red-head didn't wait for Itachi to respond before he pulled a dripping kunai. Not knowing who he was supposed to be protecting Sakura from - Itachi, his partner, or enemy nin - he set himself on high alert.

The Sharingan user surveyed the trio thoughtfully. Sakura peered at him from the safety of Sasori's arms, her delicate petal colored brows drawn together in worry. He knew how it must have looked with him standing in the middle of the smoking remains of their base, Orochimaru's favorite summon lying in pieces at his feet. "Orochimaru attempted to make me his next vessel. I turned him down."

The teenager's smooth voice carried no emotion, just flat monotone. Kisame jerked in surprise. The bastard had actually done it!

They had all _known _that Orochimaru coveted the Sharingan and its copy-cat abilities, but he had never actually thought he'd act on it. Had he thought that he could just take the kid down in one fight? Kisame snorted. He had _seen _his partner in battle before and even _he _wasn't stupid enough to take him on alone. The teen was damn scary without even trying.

Although Sasori didn't trust the Uchiha _at all, _he didn't find it particularly farfetched that Orochimaru would try and take him as a vessel so rashly. He must have been more desperate than he'd thought. Slowly, he lowered his weapon. His partner was a devious man, but was not above acting like a brazen Genin when he wanted something enough.

Kisame carefully adjusted Samehada on his back as he approached his partner. "Damn, kid, what'd you do to him?"

The Uchiha did not even blink when the ex Kiri-nin came to inspect the damage. "Hah! Leader-sama is going to be _pissed._" He toed a hunk of smouldering snake flesh with the edge of his sandal. "I mean, what is this? Our fifth base in as many months? Hah!" He grinned savagely at what appeared to be a piece of Orochimaru.

"Sasori-kun, let me _down!" _Kisame turned in time to see a pink wriggling mass slip out of the puppet-man's arms. He shook his head. That kid was damn hard to hold on to when she didn't want to be.

When her feet hit the ground, Sakura was off. The pinkette dashed towards the placidly-looking teen in the centre of the rubble. "Uchiha-san!" Surprised, he looked down to see incredibly wide grass green eyes gazing up at him. "Uchiha-san are you okay?"

The genuine concern n her eyes made his gut twist uncomfortably. "Aa, Sakura-san."

Gripping his pant leg in little fingers, she stared at him earnestly, "Are you _sure?"_

"Yes." _No. _One of his ribs was cracked, his left middle finger was broken, his thigh had a nasty puncture wound from a snake fang, and he was fairly certain his right shoulder was dislocated.

His best effort at a reassuring expression was met with a wide sunny smile and two unconvinced expressions.

.

When Madara came to see Sakura two days later at the new base, she was not in her room. He was not immediately angry. She was probably off exploring. Or reading. Or training. It's not like she knew he was going to be coming - if she _had_, he was most certain that she would have been there waiting for him. He was her best friend, after all. She'd told him.

(She'd also said she really liked that shark-man, but he rather thought that was a phase.)

He had been on his way to speak with Pein when he heard it. Her soft, lilting, voice from down the hall. Four doors down from where she was supposed to be. In a room she was _never _supposed be in.

He _knew _whose room that was and he was utterly furious. _The little whelp thought he could steal something of his from right under his nose?_

Schooling his features into something other than fury, but probably barely succeeding, he strode purposefully down the corridor towards the room. Twisting the knob with a flick of his wrist - one that nearly tore the thing from its wooden confines - he stood in the doorway of Itachi's room. Letting his chakra flood the space possessively, he watched as the younger Uchiha glanced up sharply from watching Sakura, eyes flashing.

Sitting on the bed, Sakura and Itachi made one hell of a picture. Around them on the futon were various medical supplies that Sakura had filched from the med bay and two heavy medical tomes. Sakura, busy with wrapping Itachi's wounded left hand, didn't notice Madara's entrance until Itachi said something.

Tone completely dry and not belying any of his tenseness in the presence of his ancestor, Itachi greeted him. "Madara."

Rearing back in surprise and nearly falling off the futon, Sakura completely missed the vicious snarl that Madara sent Itachi. Dropping the bandages she had been using onto the bed, she scrambled to the floor. "Madara!"

Gliding into the room with all the grace of deadly hunter, the eldest living Uchiha fixed the little girl with a stern glare. "Sakura, _what _are you doing here?"

Surprised by the reprimanding note in his voice, she fiddled with the edge of Itachi's comforter. "Um..." Suddenly realizing something, she sent Itachi a frenzied look. "Madara! I thought you were 'posed to be secret!"

"Sakura." Itachi kept a careful eye on Madara and caught the agitated tick in his jaw. It had been a long time since he'd seen him without a mask. "Itachi knows who I am. Now, _answer the question."_

"Oh, um," Glancing back at the younger Uchiha wonderingly - he knew the _whole_ time? - she began her explanation sheepishly. "Itachi-kun said I could help him. 'Cause Orochimaru was a meanie and hurt him. See?" Pulling herself onto the bed once more, she lifted Itachi's injured hand gently. "He set it and I wrapped it and he said I was big help!"

Carefully shifting so his feet were firmly planted on the floor, the teenager placed his other hand behind Sakura - just far enough to look casual, but close enough to throw her out of the way if Madara decided to kill her for her babbling. He certainly wouldn't put it past him.

Sakura had been insistent on helping after she had realized he'd been injured. Once they had moved to their new headquarters, she had stuck to him like glue. She followed him everywhere until he finally agreed to let her doctor him. She hadn't done a bad job, actually, and he found she wasn't quite as bad as he had thought. Still too innocent though.

If he had known that the 'he' she had spoken about weeks ago was his insane, revenge-driven ancestor, he would have done something. Encouraged her to pick a room closer to Kisame, on the other side of base. Told her to stay away from him. _Something._

Kami only knows what he was trying to fill her head with.

Madara clenched his jaw when Sakura patted the child's arm in concern. "You okay, Itachi-kun?"

_When the hell had she started calling him '_Itachi-kun_'? _This boy was going to poison her against him. She was going to turn from him and run right into the little prodigy's arms. She was his pawn, his tool, his to mold and raise and rule. He was _not _going to lose her to his meddling child of a relative _Itachi._

"Sakura," His tone was soft, muted and no less biting than the harsh one he had used previously. Sakura cringed. She _knew _that tone. He was angry with her. "Go to your room and get ready for bed."

Slowly sliding off the futon, the pinkette hung her head in dismay. "Sorry, Itachi-kun. I'll...talk to you later, I guess."

It wasn't until he heard the click of the door shutting that Madara broke the tense silence. "Boy," his tone was deceptively light and it put Itachi's teeth on edge. "You will not, under any circumstances, associate with Sakura again."

Staring blankly, Itachi's genius mind tried to come up with any reason Madara might want to keep her to himself. He couldn't come up with anything plausible. The whole situation made no sense.

He didn't like it. Not one bit.

* * *

**_THERE IS A POLL ON MY PROFILE. Pick the men/Konan you want to see more of._**

A/N: I had _planned _on getting this out before Christmas - but obviously that didn't happen. I had school up until the 22nd, which was hell. Seriously. I had four two-hour finals to do in two days. That's what we get on a four by four system - an entire years worth of lessons in half the time.

ANYWAY. I hope everyone had a fantastic holiday and start to the New Year. This chapter is kind of meh for me, but it'll do. It may seem like I'm really moving fast through her childhood, but _remember: _**This isn't about her childhood. **Its about what happens **_Later. _**

**_TO THE PEOPLE COMPLAINING ABOUT MADARA: _**Why, yes, he _is _a creep. He _is _sickly obsessed with a little girl. But remember, he is totally fucking insane. You really shouldn't be surprised.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I'd like to say that the reviews are why I write for you guys, but that'd be a lie. I actually love looking at my Hits - seeing how many people have read and where they are from. (Currently, my goal is to get all of Scandinavia - I just need Denmark!)

A _massive _thank you to my beta, PhePhePhe (Ophelialovesthefishes) for taking the time out of her weekend and holiday to edit this. :D

-Vene c:


	6. Bulwark

**Bulwark **(bool-werk, -wawrk, buhl-) noun:

1. a wall of earth or other material built for defense; rampart.

2. any protection against external danger, injury, or annoyance: The new dam was a bulwark against future floods.

3. any person or thing giving strong support or encouragement in time of need, danger, or doubt: Religion was his bulwark.

4. Usually, bulwarks. Nautical . a solid wall enclosing the perimeter of a weather or main deck for the protection of persons or objects on deck.

* * *

For as long as Sakura could remember, she had never been scared of Madara.

She had been scared witless of his disappointment, terrified of his displeasure in anything - but never, _never _scared for her safety.

With his potent chakra flooding the tiny enclosed space of her bedroom, Sakura felt like she was suffocating. Her chakra was hardly developed, her senses barely able to detect any sort of fluctuation in normal energy, but she could _feel _his. It was like a mass ants crawling all over her exposed skin, accompanied by a swell of prickly heat in her lungs, a suffocating pressure on her mind. This was not the usual soft, womb-like warmth he surrounded her with - this _hurt._

Madara had done nothing more than stand in her doorway for the past several moments, but it felt like he was beating her down with his energy alone. His casual stance, with his strong arms folded loosely, completely belied the rage that bore down on her with the heat of a thousand white hot suns. Not quite cowering against the far wall, Sakura is confused and hurt and genuinely _scared _for the first time in her life.

_What did I do? What did I do? _She thinks hysterically, brushing her hair back with clammy fingers and twisting the fabric of her dress nervously. Her own life force flickers instinctively against Madara's oppressive one, trying desperately to push him away. It only serves to displease him more and the thick air surges up to choke her anew.

She loves him. He is her moon and stars and sunshine and everything she had ever known, but this terrible pressure he was deliberately forcing upon her made her want to retch and claw and push him away. If he just told her what she had done, she could apologize or explain - anything!

From the doorway, the Uchiha watches as Sakura weakly attempts to push his chakra away. He is furious with her. Utterly and completely enraged at the fact that she had tried to place any sort of affection on one of his undeserving kin - one he _knew _didn't deserve it. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have cared. She could have run off to the brat and grown up and married him and had a dozen kids - he wouldn't have given a flying _fuck._

But she wasn't just anyone. He had shaped her, molded her, taught her, practically _raised _her. He _would not _allow some inbred little snot of a relative, a watered down imitation of his own self, to supplant him - not when he had spent _years _carving his spot in her soul.

He felt the lightest brushes of her growing energy against his own, like a sweet, cool breeze on his heated skin, and pushed back. He would smother her in his life force, his scent; he would forcibly show her who she belonged to.

He had considered physically punishing her, shaking her good and hard until she realized her mistake - but as much as his fingers itched for violence, he would not touch her. He needed her - physically harming her would cause permanent emotional damage and she would never look at him the same again. That would not do. The risks outweighed the primitive urge that clambered in his thoughts for purchase.

"W-what did I do?" Her voice cracks and the trembling of her full lips makes her look utterly pitiful. Madara is not one to pity and the sight of her – shaking, watery eyed and all together pathetic - makes him want to kill something. Sneering, he appears in front of her, causing Sakura to jerk backwards in surprise. He is far too close - there is too much electricity in the air, too much oppressive heat, too much of _him._

Grabbing her petite shoulders in his large deadly hands, he resists the urge to shake her like a fucking rattle – until her pink head smashes off the wall behind it and the knowledge that he is trying to force into her is shaken into her very being. He kneels before her and practically covers her with his long, lean body._What did she do?, _his mind rails against her ignorance. She tried to fill his spot with one of his own! He snarls, "You will _never _speak to Itachi again."

Gawking up at the Uchiha disbelievingly, Sakura can feel her indignance rise in her on a swell of anger that almost completely crests the black fear that lies thick and stagnant in her mind. _That _was _it? _He didn't like her talking to Itachi? He was such a...a-a _jerk!_

"You will never associate, aid, or even be in the same room with him again." he continues. "If I catch you with him again, you _will _be punished. Am I clear?"

Growling like the lioness she one day hopes to be, Sakura snarls right back at him. "_Why?"_

Wrapping his chakra around her delicate form like a rope, he forcibly draws her close. Madara clutches her to his chest too tightly, with a little too much force, so she crashes into his hard form and can hardly breathe. One hand is in her hair, tangling possessively with the silky cotton candy strands, the other is firmly secured around her shoulders. The less angry part of him, far back in his mind, is shivering with glee at her blatant show of backbone - something he is sure to appreciate much more when she is grown.

"_Why?" _He breathes into her ear, more of a hiss than anything. "Because you. Are. Mine."

He feels her shift against him and thinks she is going to hug him back, like he knows she loves to. The little girl puts a small hand just below his ribs and says blandly, "I. Don't. Care."

Sudden pain, white hot like a searing brand, replaces the gentle warmth of her hand and he releases her, instinctually leaping back, fingers itching for a weapon. The scent of charred human flesh hangs in the air, hot and putrid, and he looks down to see what she has managed to do. His black shirt is unharmed, but below that his skin is a sick oozing mess of burned, peeling dermis. He knows this wound well - chakra burns are not very common once a shinobi learns how to funnel their energy into jutsu, but among yet untrained academy students it is an instinctual response to danger.

The raven-haired male is...surprised she can muster the mount of control it must have taken to release that much chakra on command. She doesn't have much of it in her, just enough to sustain coils, but apparently she had enough control to channel it into her hand to singe him without being in immediate danger.

He tears his shirt absently to reveal the sticky, weeping wound his girl inflicted upon him. Funny, how it looked like he had been hit with a mini Katon. A heavy wave of pride sweeps over him despite his anger.

Sakura, horrified by what she did - it was only supposed to shock him! - crawls over to her favorite person, tears running unheeded down her flushed cheeks. Utterly exhausted, her limbs tremble as she drags herself over the floor. When it doesn't seem like he's going to notice her anytime soon, she grabs one of his hands and clutches it desperately.

"I'm sorry!" Glancing up from inspecting his burn, he is startled to see Sakura hovering over him, crying like she had just singed herself rather than him, "I'm so sorry! I didn't know it was going to do that." She shuffles closer to him meekly, all of her defiance gone, and throws her thin arms around his neck, clinging to him. "I love you! I didn't mean to, I swear."

Wrapping an arm around her and completely disregarding the pain that came with having her pressed to his abdomen, he rests his chin on her head. Anger evaporating like water on a flame he breathes slowly. "I know," his smooth baritone rumbles in his chest and seems to sooth her exhausted nerves as her head droops a little. "I am not angry with you."

Sniffling pitifully, Sakura buries her face in his thick curtain of hair. "You sure?"

"Yes." He will remind her to stay away from the child later, right now he has other things to think about.

.

He was watching her again.

He wasn't _supposed _to be. Madara had _told _him _and _her to stay away from each other, but the Uchiha heir didn't seem to care in the slightest. Was he _trying _to get her in trouble?

Honestly, it wasn't like she was doing anything particularly interesting, either. She was just sitting in the deserted common quarters meditating like Zetsu taught her. He said it would help build her chakra reserves if she did it often enough. And probably improve her focus, too.

Sakura can feel his eyes on her - watching - and it made her nervous, unable to achieve the concentration she is seeking.

"Uchiha-san," she'd been _ordered_ not to call him by anything else and she didn't want a repeat with Madara. "You are not supposed to be in here."

Itachi can feel the spike in her minimal amount of chakra - she's nervous, frustrated, worried. The thought of Madara's displeasure scares her. The corners of his thin lips turn down infinitesimally.

After Madara delivered his warning, Itachi is certain he went to speak with the girl. Something must have occurred in that little room - a dangerous, suffocating tide of chakra, a desperate fluctuation of a weaker force, then, like a lightning bolt, a streak of sizzling chakra that cut through the other. From nearly the other side of base, he had felt it all with his finely honed senses.

Madara was lucky he had been the only other Akatsuki on base. He is sure that, had Sasori or Kisame or even Zetsu, been there, they would have started something quite messy. The Uchiha heir hadn't considered coming to her aid. It would have been far too risky.

"Aa," he sits down across from her, long legs crossed. He watches, amused, as she determinedly keeps her eyes shut despite the way her eyelids twitch - most likely hoping that if she ignored him long enough he'd leave.

She was wrong.

See, that night, nearly three weeks ago, had rent unto him something like a revelation. His startlingly fast mind, set in a depressed lethargy since the massacre, began to move again. Jiraiya had given him a purpose, yes, but Sakura had given him a _plan._

Sakura had somehow managed to lock her fingers around his ancestor and he was attempting to do the same to her - but she was young. Too young to fall prey to his silky tongue and wicked eyes. Madara was _attached _to her. So _attached _that he would nearly blow his cover for her - so _attached _that he would threaten one of his key pawns for her - so _attached _that he would let her close enough to _wound him._

By threatening him and viciously trying to protect his territory, Madara had revealed his weakness. _Sakura._

"Seriously," the pinkette turns her head away until all he can see is a shield of pink, telling him to go away without words. "Madara will be really, _really _angry if he finds you with me - or me with you - so you should go."

Though his ancestor seemed to have developed an unhealthy attachment towards her, the same could not be said for Sakura. She certainly cared for him, feared his displeasure, and seemed to genuinely adore him - but their confrontation had shaken her. He could see it in the furrow of her brow, the tremor in her voice, the confusion and hurt in her vibrant eyes. Sakura's faith in Madara was not infallible.

It seemed that, in trying to reinforce his hold over her, Madara had actually chipped away at his carefully laid foundation.

He had gotten what he wanted, yes, but his plan had also backfired. Sakura avoided him, started calling him 'Uchiha-san' once more, and never even came near his side of the base if she could help it - but he had also succeeded in raising a defiant, rebellious streak in her. One that had always been there, true, but had never had a real reason to flourish.

The oldest living Uchiha had given her defiant nature the boost it had needed to come to the fore, and it most certainly had.

Her eyes, wild, bright things of grassy green, were lit with a rebellious fire. Every time she passed by a room she knew he was in, she would pause; considering going in, just to spite him. Whenever he passed her in a hall, he could see 'Itachi-kun' forming on her lips. She protested and fought him when he insisted upon sharing time with her - always on accident, in the hall for a moment's conversation, the kitchen for a sweet treat - but he could see the mischievous, spiteful look in her eyes. She _wanted _to go against him, but dared not to.

It was ironic that in trying to keep his territory, Madara had effectively opened a door form him.

"Sakura-san," he begins, his monotone smooth and low. "Do you like secrets?" He watches her eyelids flicker again as she slowly turns her pink head back to face him. He knows he has her full, undivided attention. _Good._

"Maybe..." Her eyes open slowly, reluctantly, slits of green regarding him closely.

In the very back of his mind, in the darkest confines of his murderous consciousness, the scared fourteen year old boy that he should be whispers very quietly that this is wrong. He is setting her up for pain and most likely death - how could he do this to such a little girl?

For Sasuke.

"I have a secret," his resolve hardens and turns to steel. She _wanted_ to be a kunoichi - a tool used for the greater good.

Trying not to look interested, but failing miserably, she glances towards the door, checking to make sure Madara wasn't there. "Oh?"

"You have no one to train you," He watches her stiffen with calm, unblinking eyes. There is cautious, sceptical hope flickering in her expression that he sees all too easily. "I would like to."

.

Sakura is sitting on Konan's bed, staring forlornly into a small hand mirror, when he comes to see his blue-haired friend. Feeling his gaze, Sakura meets his strange eyes unflinchingly. There is razor sharp curiosity in her expression and he knows that is never a good thing.

"Pein," He raises a pierced brow when she covers the mirror with her hand and hopes against hope that she isn't going to ask what he thinks she is.

"Are you my daddy?"

_Fuck._

After a moment of impassive shock that doesn't register in his expression in the slightest, he steps fully into the room and shuts the door. Carefully hiding a grimace at the situation, Pein takes a deep breath through his nose. He had hoped Konan would have had this conversation with her already - apparently not. This was _not _a conversation he wanted to have with his (kind of) surrogate daughter. Could she just..._accept _it, or something?

He doesn't look at her as he approaches Konan's futon, but he can feel her attention on him like a tangible thing – weighing heavily on his shoulders. The orange-haired man sighs quietly and lies down beside her in a way so casual it is definitely forced. With one scarred hand he swipes the little mirror from her hands and drops it on the floor, with the other he urges her to lie next to him. When she is comfortably situated beside him, he says simply, "I am not your father."

She sighs gustily – from disappointment, or relief, he is not sure - and waits for him to continue.

"I am not your father, but what does that matter?" How many times has he said this to himself over the years? He and Konan had decided a long time ago that it would never work between them, but Sakura was like a punch in the gut. She was his '_Could have been' _and _'What if'. _Konan's precious girl could have very well been his if they had just...

It doesn't matter.

"Have I not done what father's do? I have provided, given guidance-" _named you _"-is that not what a father does?"

"Yeah...S'just curious, is all." He feels her shrug and doesn't have to look to know she is lying. There was more to it, he is sure. "Kisame told me I must have gotten my eyes from my dad and I..." She trails off, not knowing how to finish.

He stares blandly at the pockmarked ceiling, wishing the situation were different - wishing that she had silver eyes instead of green, flaming orange instead of blushing pink. He wishes his father had been alive long enough to teach him how to father another correctly because he knows what they have attempted with this girl is nowhere near enough. He was going to protect her, guide her, do his best for her - but it would never be what she deserved, because he_wasn't _who he should have been. He wasn't her flesh and blood like he _should have fucking been._

The glint of light off of the discarded mirror distracts him from his bitter thoughts. Curious as to why she would be thinking about her father and staring at her reflection at the same time, he asks, "Why did you have a mirror, Sakura?"

"I...just," her mouth works furiously as she struggles for words, trying to not sound petty and girlish. "I want to...know who I look like."

The Rinnegan user turns his head to look at his best friends' creation.

She was petite, soft lines and delicate skin. She was pure. She was fragile. Sakura, would never be a copy of her mother - there would always be an unknown person there, hiding in the shade of her eyes, the dimple in her smile. She would never be as she wanted - a perfect replica of Konan, strong, cold and completely and utterly stunning, a raw diamond; harder than steel and more beautiful than anything that nature had any right to create. She would be something entirely new – more organic, fluid and changeable.

"You look like you." He says simply, hoping that is enough.

.

Months after Itachi began Sakura's secret training, he solidified his plan. He started her off with simple things, exercises he was taught even before he entered the academy. The pinkette was a quick learner and though she was severely lacking in physical strength, Sakura made up for it in intelligence. She was no prodigy, but she certainly had the brains to become one of Konoha's genii.

If his plan worked, she would be.

Hopefully, one day, she would find a home where he hadn't.

.

Deidara hated the Akatsuki.

Deidara hated Ame.

Deidara especially _hated _Uchiha Itachi.

Sitting in the room-turned-cell, the explosives specialist fumes. He hated them all. (_Especially _Uchiha Itachi.)

The fourteen year old nuke-nin silently rages against the whole organization by doing the only thing he can at the moment, carving a freaking massive bird in the wall with a dull kunai. Its huge, stylized beak is spread wide, screaming for him. Its wings, completely outstretched and detailed to every feather, encompass nearly the entire wall - flying free when he could not.

_Who did they think they were, forcing him to join like a...a! _Throwing the kunai at the stupid cloak hanging from the stupid door, Deidara growls at the unfairness of it all.

One minute he was innocently blowing up homes and destroying lives like the good terrorist he was, and the next he was being confronted by Uchiha _freaking _Itachi and _losing. _Who does that? Okay, so he _is _a damn good shinobi, but forcing him into the Akatsuki? Even by his standards, that was totally retarded. ANd it was all because of that stupid Uchiha.

The red-eyed bastard would be eradicated; he would make sure of it. He'd C4 'em so hard, it'd wake up his stupid dead family and then he'd seriously regret ever screwing with an artist of his calibre.

The girly looking faggot of a douche.

.

Okay, so _maybe _snooping around the new blonde kid's room wasn't one of her smartest decisions. It wasn't like she was going to deny it - Sakura really hadn't thought through her plan. She just wanted to _see. _Seriously, it's not like they get new member _often._

When she'd heard Kisame grumbling about how "that damn kid wouldn't shut up the whole freaking trip" the girl had been understandably intrigued. She had immediately gone to Sasori - the 'kid's' new partner - and he had told her he was an artist ("_Believes _he's an artist with those stupid clay birds and fire crackers - _honestly.) _among several other creative insults.

Well, needless to say, that hadn't helped quell her curiosity in the slightest.

Only two of the (official) Akatsuki were anything close to talkative, and those two were both much, _much _older than her - so she was, simply put, craving some interaction with her peers. It had been _months _since she had last been to a village and had any sort of fun with people her age.

(Which really wasn't saying much, because the ones who usually took her - Kisame and Sasori - didn't like her playing with the other children. _Especially_boys. She had no idea why, since, you know, _they _are all boys. But, whatever.)

So, that's what brought her to the west side of the Head Quarters, standing awkwardly before the plain, unmarked wooden door not knowing what she should do.

She could knock or something...But what if he's sleeping? And if he answered the door, what would she say? (Hi, I'm Sakura. You hate my friends. Want to come train with me? No? Well.)

She could walk in and pretend she didn't know he was in there, thereby initiating conversation. But what if he was doing something he didn't want her to see? Like getting naked. The eight year old recoiled from the door at the thought. Ew.

Sighing, Sakura turned on her heel and began walking down the hall. She had gotten nearly five steps when the door opened.

"Hey!" Spinning around, she came face to chest with a boy. Stepping back - bubble popper, much? - the rose-haired girl stared up at the teen. He had to have the most beautiful, luscious, shining blonde hair she had ever seen! The jerk.

"Um," Awkwardly clasping her hands behind her back. The blonde glared.

"Who are you and why were you standing outside of my door, un." _That's not really a question, so I don't have to answer, right? _She thought, blushing. Great, now he was going to think she's weird. And, jeez, _what _is with everyone being so much _prettier _than her?

Deidara was trying _very hard _to be tough and imposing, but, inside, he was kind of...stunned.

What the _hell _was an adorable, pink and green, little girl doing in the bowels of the Akatsuki HQ? Seriously, her symmetry was... like whoa, for lack of a more eloquent phrase.

"Um, sorry." Taking a deep breath, the dainty little thing straightens her shoulders and looks him in the eye. "My name is Sakura and I wanted to say hi. So...hi, I guess." She waves a small, perfectly proportioned hand awkwardly.

Looking at her sceptically, but not seeing any other plausible excuse for a little girl to be hanging outside of his room, underground, in Akatsuki territory, he snorts and acidly sticks his tongues out at her - expecting her to draw back in fear, maybe even give a girlish scream. He's used to girls doing that - used fully grown, battle-hardened _shinobi_ doing that - but he's used to it. Like pretty much every other shinobi, his childhood hadn't been great - just because he had a freaky mutation.

Fortunately (or maybe _un_fortunately) for him, Sakura had seen a great many disgusting things in her short life - honestly, Deidara's hand-tongues had nothing on Kakuzu's black tentacle-thread things - and was more interested in the _how_ and not the _ew._

Already looking a little smug, the blonde is completely taken off guard when she grabs one of his palms, lightening fast, and starts firing questions at him like a freaky miniature doctor. With pink hair. And crazy symmetrical features.

It takes him a moment to comprehend what she's doing, why she's not running away from him. The ex Iwa-nin watches in muted shock as she turns his hand, all scars and wagging tongues, over and over. She isn't scared of him, and the knowledge causes something warm and pleasant to spread through his veins.

"...to your digestive system? Do they have taste buds?" Sakura asks eagerly.

"Um, no." Feeling awkward because no one ever seemed to get past their disgust to really _think _about his kekkai-genkai before and the attention leaves him flustered. He spent his whole life looking for the kind of acceptance radiating off Sakura and felt the selfishness born of always being alone spring forth. He _craved _this attention.

It seemed that every part of her vibrated with excitement - shown with glee at learning something new and interesting. Her expressions danced across her eyes and flitted over her sweet face in flashes. One moment he saw a meek awkwardness - the next a confident rebelliousness. Like explosions of color, they struck him and he was momentarily blinded by it all. Her beautiful, fleeting beauty left him breathless.

Art was a bang, but she was a boom.

.

"Okay, so remember that for every teaspoon of Clorox, three teaspoons of peroxide, un."

"Gotcha."

"Alright, so once you've got those mixed, you can add the sink cleaner - the more you put, the more noxious your explosion."

"Really?"

"Yeah, this is freaking intense - just wait, un."

"Um, where are we going to put it?"

"Well, once you add the cleaner, we've got about a minute to run it somewhere and get out of the way, so we'll have to put it somewhere close..."

"No, Deidara-kun."

"Please?"

"No."

"It's not like it'll do anything permanent! He doesn't even have _lungs, _Sakura-chan. Danna will be fine, un."

"Sasori-kun would _kill _me. And you. _Especially _you."

"Danna appreciates art, Sakura-chan."

"You _know _he doesn't appreciate your artwork, Deidara-kun."

"...It'll be fun?"

"That's what you said about the butterflies I made for him and then you _blew them up._"

"You still haven't forgiven me yet? It was art, un, it _had _to be blown up!"

"Bring me some shaved ice from Natsu and I'll consider forgiving you."

"You're diabolical."

"I try."

.

From down the hall, Sasori groaned. That pyromaniac was poisoning his doll's _mind. _One minute she's innocently reciting every bone in the human body to him while he carves and the next she's making stink bombs in the kitchen with what sounds like the entire contents of the cleaning cabinet. If Deidara keeps spreading his vile influence, who knows what she'll do next - she may even _agree _to putting the bomb in his work room.

She may pick up his _horrible _speaking habits, Kami forbid. If she starts saying "un" or calling him "danna" he'll...

Well, okay, that last one wasn't so bad - but if hears a single "un" from her perfect little mouth, he's stitching the irritating blonde's lips _shut._

From somewhere down the hall, an exasperated, but also distinctly amused female voice shrieks, "I sai_d no, _Deidara - gahk! Did you just_ lick _me with your _hand?"_

Oh, and those too_._

_

* * *

_A/N: You guys are lucky I'm on break - or else you would have never gotten this so fast. **Regarding the Poll: **Itachi won! Not surprising, that. What _was _surprising, however, was who came in second. Pein was only _one point _behind Itachi, which floored me. You guys never even mentioned in any of the reviews that you wanted to see more of that guy! If I had known, he would have appeared more often.

_**There is a new Poll!**_

As always, an everlasting, humongeous thanks to my darling beta, PhePhePhe, for taking the time to polish this for me. (And LOL to the fact that she's trying to make me look British! i.e: "Caliber" to "Calibre" and "skeptical" to "sceptical".)

OH. And before I forget, this chapter is dedicated to **Quirming** for being my first Danish reader! You made my day. :D

-Vene


	7. Autodidact

**Autodidact **[aw-toh-dahy-dakt, -dahy-dakt] _noun:_

1. a person who has learned a subject without the benefit of a teacher or formal education; a self-taught person.

* * *

Itachi was not blind.

He could easily see why Madara would be interested in Sakura - could see why he would risk forming an attachment to her. She was clean, like cold, fresh water in the center of blisteringly hot desert - the sweet face in a sea of ugliness; a gleam of pure light in a void of darkness. She smiled, laughed, loved so freely that it stunned him. If he could have been freer with his emotions, he would have thought her situation heart breaking.

Her life would never be easy. That, at least, was predestined. When she grows up and leaves the Akatsuki, she will see the people she loves for what they really are - murderers, psychopaths, sociopaths - and she will be properly horrified. He knows that there is no telling how she will turn out with any real certainty - but he has learned to trust his gut instincts and it is telling him that she is _good. _Unerringly, incorruptibly good. That could be a blessing or a curse.

His mind flickers to the present as Sakura's small foot connected solidly with his clones' hand. His clone jumped back, took out a purposely dulled kunai – blunt to the point that it could barely cut butter - and disappeared. Crouching in a defensive position, the petal-haired nine year old carefully scans her surroundings. She lays a carefully woven chakra net around her, trying to detect her teacher's distinctive chakra.

Before her flimsy, clumsily made, net can detect him the fake Itachi is behind her; his knee connecting with her spine in a way that sends her flying, contorted. Panting and absolutely covered in dirt, Sakura pushes herself onto her back with an audible groan. She was getting faster, but not anywhere _near_fast enough to keep up with Itachi. Not even in the same magnitude as the speed needed. The man was like lightening - one moment you're staring at emptiness, the next you're struck dumb by the blinding flash and unimaginable, crippling pain.

Agreeing to let him teach her had not been a mistake. She was faster, stronger, and far more adept at basic jutsu now than she ever would have been had she still been an autodidact. But with his tutoring came a constant haze of fatigue, a certain amount of paranoia, and some ugly, blotchy bruises – until it got to the point that she was splattered in all the colors of the rainbow beneath her clothes. He was careful, of course, to not cause her injury in places the bruises could be seen.

The young female was grateful, certainly, but she knew he didn't do this out of the kindness of his heart. He had to have a reason for training her and she was slowly but surely coming to realize that everyone seemed to have something planned for her.

Sasori expressed hopes that one day she'd consent to him turning her into a puppet.

Kisame wanted to make her his new partner when she's old enough.

Pein implied that she was going to help them save the world.

Madara...

Well, she didn't know what Madara wanted - but after the incident a few years ago, she was not so quick to trust him. She loved him, yes, but her eyes had started to open to his true nature. Much like the child becoming aware that parents are not invincible, Sakura started to understand and _see _that Madara was not the saint she had so desperately portrayed him as – had wanted him to be.

It shook her, knowing that she had been entirely, wilfully blind to the dark undercurrent of his chakra and the near sadistic cruelty that lingered in the corners of the broad grin that had previously given her so much untouched delight. Sakura accepted him, of course. What kind of friend would she be if she didn't? She firmly believed that you take people as they are - cruel tendencies and all.

Itachi had his reasons for training her, yes, but she had _her _reasons for _letting him._

One, she couldn't keep teaching herself and expect to get any better. She had good reason to believe that all of her Akatsuki were very capable shinobi - even though hadn't ever seen them fight seriously before. Two, she was secretly going against Madara's irrational jealousy and that felt _good._

As much as she loved him, Sakura felt smothered at times. All he ever wanted on base was her, her, _her. _Any hint, any tiny sign, that she wanted to spend time with the other Akatsuki would send him into a right snit. Even if her eyes were to stray from him for a moment, she would feel his chakra pushing against her in admonishment. He showered her with affection and attention that she was normally sorely lacking and she did indeed enjoy it, but he wanted her to only look to him for it. He wanted her to see him, only him, always. When he felt she wasn't giving him her sole attention and affection, he made sure to remind her whom she belonged to.

She felt _free_ when she was learning from Itachi. She felt empowered - like she could take on the world - when she managed to perfect a new taijutsu combination, when she memorized a new set of seals. Sakura knew she wasn't the greatest kunoichi, she was no prodigy by any standard, but she was damn smart. And determined. One day she _would _be a powerful kunoichi and she would _show _Madara that she could fend for herself, that she didn't need his constant, smothering attention.

It was one of those rare clear days in Ame. Lying flat on her back as she was, Sakura stared up at the vast, cloudless sky in abject wonder.

The same sky she was currently lying under spreads over all of the countries, the same sun shines on everyone in every hidden city, the same wind blows through every window in every home everywhere. Names and places she has only seen on the front of a dog-eared, ink splattered map are housed under this same expanse and that thought is almost too much to bear.

The world was an amazing, beautiful place and the pinkette desperately wanted to see it. Her anticipation and longing grows with her, and the older she gets the more impatient she becomes. Kisame said she would, eventually. He said missions take you everywhere - but you've got to do the little things first. It_killed _her.

"You will not be a better kunoichi if you stay prone on the ground, Sakura-san."

Sakura glared at a poor, innocent, fluffy cloud as it passed overhead.

Sometimes, the stupid Uchiha could be a real jerk. An _arrogant _jerk. He constantly said things like "stop being foolish, Sakura-san" and "idiocy doesn't become you, Sakura-san - do it once more".

Dragging herself into something resembling a sitting position, Sakura grunted at her teacher in a very unladylike manner - something she is almost certain she learned from him.

.

"So, my dad's from here?"

Konan swallowed hard and pointed to the tiny red dot on the map of snow country.

Her daughter was a curious thing and more often than not it got her into trouble. She had been asking for months who her father was and where he came from and it had gotten to the point where Konan couldn't just ignore it anymore. It was odd that she always asked about her father and not her mother, but maybe she just didn't feel the need to know. Konan did not allow her thoughts to linger on that.

"Jihatsu-tekina..." Sakura traced the stylized mountains of Kuni with a single finger thoughtfully. "It doesn't show if the town is under the generators, Konan. Does he live in the snow?" Konan barely stifles a pained flinch at the breathless excitement in her daughter's voice.

Sakura was ecstatic.

Her father, always an abstract thought, a ghostly figure that never had a substantial meaning, was suddenly a real person. He had a name and a home and a country.

Haruno Ishi. Civilian doctor, head of a tiny clinic, and twenty-five years old. He has red hair, green eyes, and very straight teeth. Sakura's fingers flutter over her face and hair, the knowledge making her tremble with giddiness.

"He lives farther north," Konan intoned quietly, her placid tone not revealing any of her anxiety. "past the ports."

"Will I ever get to see Jihatsu-tekina?" Sakura asked, her hopeful eyes shining like liquid emeralds.

"Maybe," The paper mistress picked up a red marker from the piles of writing materials on her daughter's desk, uncapped it, and drew a small crimson circle around the place on the map. Perhaps an X would have been more appropriate – X marks the spot. "but for now, this is a close as you will come."

She watches, uneasy, as Sakura spreads her fingers over the creased paper of the map - breathless, enraptured, and determined. When had this started? Her stomach rolls with wary suspicion when her daughter's lily white fingers ghost over the mountains of Kuni almost reverently.

Sometimes she wishes her daughter's mind wasn't so sharp.

.

Sasori adjusted the fabric of Sakura's new shirt over her shoulders thoughtfully – smoothing down a few non-existent creases.

Her outfit was a loud one - all violent crimsons and subtle creams - but it seemed to fit her somehow, his fondness for the colour red notwithstanding. She had been worried when he presented it to her that the color would clash terribly with her lurid hair. Amazingly, the bright red seemed to compliment her outrageous hair color perfectly.

The puppet master had been tired of all her melancholy blues and blacks that Konan had seen fit to dress her in. His doll was _life - _she needed color, vibrancy, not darkness and gloom. It was almost like the pot calling the kettle black, in his case, but he flatly refused to acknowledge such absurdities. Sakura was a shining light in the gloom that seemed to cover every inch of the Akatsuki base. Beautiful, sweet, innocent.

"I dunno, Sasori-kun," Sakura said, her tone dubious as she stared at her reflection in the full length mirror he set up in his work shop. "Shouldn't I be wearing something more...neutral? Everyone else wears black and blue, here."

"True, Doll," the red-head murmured as he finished buckling the straps at her hips – still stiff with lack of use, "but wouldn't you rather be _unique?_"

Smoothing the bright fabric over her stomach thoughtfully, Sakura stared at her reflection. She rather liked red. It reminded her of Madara. "Yeah, but Uchiha-san says stuff like that gets you killed."

Huffing, "Of _course _the Uchiha would say that. He has no artistic perspective whatsoever."

Muffling a giggle, the pink-haired little girl turns this way and that way and admires Sasori's handiwork. The shirt was a sensible, short-sleeved thing with a zipper down the front and made with heavy material that wouldn't tear easy. Sasori had also added that it was flame resistant, but Sakura doubted it would stand up to Itachi's Katon jutsu. He had given her a pair of navy shorts to go underneath her plain, off-white skirt. He had sewn loops on the hips for her kunai pouches and a secret pocket on the thigh of her shorts to hide various weapons and poisons should she need them.

With her long rose hair kept out of her eyes in a graceful braid - courtesy of Deidara - and her snazzy new outfit, Sakura thought she looked pretty nice. She wasn't stunning by any means, but she certainly was unique and that was more than most could say. Maybe one day she'd grow to be as beautiful as Konan.

Probably not.

With an amusingly flamboyant flourish, Sasori rose from his kneeling position and turned her around. He took in her pale coloring and vibrant hair and the vivid splash of color he provided and smiled in approval. Red was most definitely her color.

The sight of her young radiance in his color made a warm feeling pool in his non-existent stomach.

One day she would be a woman and the deep crimson that made her look so sweet and innocent now would do very, _very _different things. She'll have curves and angles that men won't be able to resist and that made him...quite displeased. The smile he had been sporting fell away abruptly and was replaced with a customary, vicious scowl. Luckily, Sakura was too busy fingering the various pockets of her outfit to notice and be offended.

Well. Even a _hint _of male attention and he'll make her wear traditional Suna garb in a fetching shade of oatmeal for the rest of her life.

Turning around, Sakura throws her thin arms around his narrow waist, burying her face in the cotton over his abdominals. He can't feel her smile, but he knows its there.

"Thank you Sasori-kun!"

He sighs and pats her head, his scowl lifting just slightly.

.

"Konan, d'you know who my mother is?" The kunoichi freezes for a moment, fingers curled around the plain off-white covers she is tucking around her daughter. The surprise hardly registers on her beautiful face and she continues to tuck the sheets around Sakura's chin as though nothing had happened.

"No." Her voice is quiet, nearly indecisive. She is glad Sakura is half-way asleep already, or else she would have picked up on it.

"Then how'd you find me?" The rosette slurs quietly, eyes drooping heavily. She pulls Chicanery to her chest and snuggles her nose into his worn blue fabric tiredly.

"The same way the sun knows to set every night." The mother struggles for words, horribly torn between telling her the truth and damning her, or lying and breaking her heart.

"I...don't understand." Just barely awake now, Sakura's brows draw together in puzzlement.

"It was meant to be, Sakura." She is asleep before Konan can finish the sentence. Sakura never asks again.

Konan is very nearly heartbroken.

.

"Madara?"

The raven-haired male tightened his hold minutely on the precious person in his arms. She was supposed to be sleeping. "Hm?"

"What would you do if I...wasn't here anymore?" The question, softly murmured and deceptively harmless, made him want to strangle something. The Uchiha founder had very purposely blocked all thought of her not being with him forever from his mind. He _had _come up with various contingency plans and rather creative punishments for anyone foolish enough to try and take her from him, but had never given thought of her never being returned to him any really consideration. Individual free will was often something he overlooked. His peaceful expression vanished, a curiously dark one taking its place – one she thankfully could not see.

"If you were not here, where I left you, I would find you." Gently, he manoeuvred them so Sakura was tucked safely under his chin and he could bury his nose in her jasmine-scented hair. "If you were taken, I would slaughter those who stole you." She shifted against him so her small ear was pressed to his chest - to hear his heart and the soothing rumble of his voice. _Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump._ She was nearly asleep when the low strains of his next words broke through her drowsiness like a splash of icy cold water.

"If you left, I would hunt you down and never let you go."

Suddenly very much awake, Sakura clutches the dark fabric of Madara's shirt between clammy, sweat slick fingers. Her breath is a little shallow and she can't quite figure out why she is so panicked.

"But what if I had a good reason?" she whispers into the side of his neck, voice muffled and wavering. He stiffens and wraps himself more tightly around her, like a living rope, a shackle of flesh.

"It doesn't matter," he whispers fiercely into her hair. He clutches her to him desperately, trying to squash any stupid, crazy ideas she might have. "The only way you could ever leave would be if you had my permission - and I would _never _give it."

Her heart pounds. She squeezes her eyes shut and desperately tries to dispel the irrational fear in her gut.

.

Kisame watched in mild wonder as Sakura managed to erase every part of her trail perfectly. No chakra, no scent, no nothing.

He'd asked her to show him her "mad running away skills" that the brat artist had been muttering about, expecting to be able to find her quite easily. True, the base was a large, twisting labyrinth of tunnels, chambers, and dead ends, but finding one pink-haired little nine year old couldn't be that difficult. He recalls the day they met, so many bases ago, and the shuffling, shy mess she had been. Quiet to a civilian, maybe, but as loud as an explosion to a trained shinobi.

Huh.

He was wrong.

She _had _said something about the cannibalistic plant man teaching her how to evade capture - he just never thought she'd actually be _good _at it. Initially, he had planned to just listen to her light footsteps, but quickly realized she had managed to muffle those. When that plan fell through, he decided to track her chakra. Damn.

Well, _apparently, _someone had taught her how to conceal her chakra damn effectively, so he was left with what amounted to good old fashioned hide and seek. Even with Samehada's incredible sensitivity, it was like she had been completely muffled. Being underground certainly did not help with his chakra sensing abilities in the slightest. The pleasant hum of her chakra was extinguished and it left him with a shifting, uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach – not fear, or worry... Anticipation, perhaps, but with an edge that was significantly more _predatory_ than anything else.

The little rascal could be anywhere - she wasn't in any of her usual haunts (he already checked her room, what was left of Orochimaru's library that Sakura had managed to salvage, Sasori's workshop, and the training area...)

When had she gotten so good at running away and hiding?

It's not like he didn't see the advantages of learning how to evade and safely conceal oneself, but it just didn't seem like a tactic his Squirt would put too much effort into. Between gritted teeth, he admits that this is probably a good thing, but still the thought of being bested – however momentarily – by a nine year old girl with pink hair gives his pride a rather violent sting.

There is a shift in the stagnant air of the tunnel, near imperceptible, and he knows that she is close. A feral smile curls at the sides of his mouth in response.

_Come out, come out, where ever you are..._

.

Deidara wouldn't call himself complacent, but he could concede to "attached". To certain people. Certain little people. And maybe Danna.

And, yeah, maybe being in the Akatsuki wasn't _so _bad, but it's not like you'd ever hear him say that. A few things made his veritable imprisonment not so stifling - unlimited art supplies, a license to do pretty much whatever the hell he wanted, and Sakura.

They had four years between them, sure, but he was not at all embarrassed to say she was his best friend. She stitched him up when he was reckless, scolded him when he was too crude, and always, _always _accepted him for who he was. That was far more than he could say for anyone else. Sakura, with her charming smiles and constant thirst for knowledge, was the family he had always craved.

If you asked him, he wouldn't be able to pinpoint the moment when it happened; sometime between her awkward "hi" and his Near Death Experience (the price you pay for tossing a stink bomb in Sasori's work room, Sakura had scolded), he fell for her. Hard.

Of course she was too young still, only nine years old, but he wouldn't have to wait _that _long. Maybe five or so years. By then he would have (hopefully) grown out of his lanky teenage body and she would have...well. Rounded out. A little. And they would fall in love and live happily ever after blowing stuff up and causing chaos.

If Kisame/Sasori/Konan let him, that is.

Well, it's not like they'd have much else to choose from, but anyway. He still hated the majority of them, though. Zetsu gave him the creeps. Kakuzu was an all-around jerk face who cared more about the coin in his pockets than even his own life. And Itachi was the worst of them all. Arrogant bastard.

He was by _far _the best choice for her. He was loving, creative, an excellent shinobi, and undeniably good-looking. Compared to everyone else, he was damn near perfect.

.

Sasori pulled the needle and thread through the worn blue fabric with infinite care. Sakura, her eyes wide with worry, sits in his lap. Her hands clutch at the wooden, rigid contours of his biceps in anxiety and she leans forward, just a little, and catches her bottom lip between her teeth.

The ex-Suna shinobi hums deep and low in his throat, trying to sooth his doll and work at the same time. He doesn't have the heart to tell her that Chicanery is nearly beyond his help. The poor thing was falling apart, fluff poking out everywhere and seams bursting. What was once vibrant blue and crimson colors had been faded to the point where it was more various shades of gray.

"Doll," She glances up at him, wide, needle grass eyes brimming with tears, and he nearly chokes on the urge to say everything will be fine. He sighs and ploughs onward. "I don't think I'll be able to fix him this time."

The rosette gasps, tears streaming in salty tracks down her horrified features, and buries her face in the side of his arm. She wails, "But I've had him _forever!"_

He expertly ties off the thread and snaps the excess off, trying to think of a delicate way of putting this. As far as lessons go, this one would probably be the most important in her career as a shinobi. "Sakura-chan," he rests his chin atop her rosy head and rubs soothing circles on her back in the way she likes. "everything has its time. Nothing lasts forever, not even Chicanery, but..." here he struggles for words, trying not to scare her. "I'm changing that. _I_ will be here for you."

She stiffens and he passes it off as her grief for Chicanery.

.

Zetsu doesn't know when it happened, but sometime between the last time he was on base and his five month mission, Sakura had developed calluses.

She was helping him plant some herbs from Fire country Sasori had specifically requested for an especially vicious poison when he noticed. Shifting, he stared at her dainty hands in the green tinted light of the greenhouse and absently patted loose soil around the tender new shoots.

The rich black dirt clung to the pale flesh of her palms in a different way than it used to. The plant man knew she had been training with kunai for a while now – they all knew - but he had never seen any sort of physical proof of it until now.

The swirls of hardened skin on her fingers and palms showed hard work and rigid technique. From their positions at the tips of her fingers and pad of her thumb, he knew she had been training extensively, and probably exclusively, with long-handled kunai - a specialty of Fire country blacksmiths.

Where had she gotten those?

* * *

A/N: Sweet beans, this thing took forever and a freaking day. I had massive trouble with this chapter. The flow is off, dialogue stiff, and scenes too damn short. Ugh. I WANTED SO MUCH MORE. fuuuu! So, yeah, don't blow a fuse or anything, but this is the **_very last floofy Akatsuki chapter. _**I think there'll be one more involving Pein and...junk, but it gets a little angsty from here on out. I'm not saying it won't circle back around - this most definitely _**not **_the last Akatsuki chapter, just Akat/Lil'Sakura floofiness. THEY SHALL RETURN, I SAY. But. Yeah, last of baby floofiness, yeah? Like always, a huge, sloppy French kiss of Doom for the crazy lady who scrubs this shit clean for you guys: PhePhePhe, the Gorgeous.

_**Regarding the poll: **_

Itachi-chan - 25 votes, winner _once again. _

Konan - 14 votes, a real surprise, actually.

Deidara - 14 votes, le gasp! A TIE.

Pein - 12 votes, oh, we'll see him soon.

Chicanery the Super Shark - 12 votes, LOLHARDCOREGAIZ.

Madara - 11 votes, seriously guys? BC

Sasori - 8 votes, wasn't too surprised on this one.

Kisame - 5 votes, YEAH WELL HE DOESN'T LIKE YOU EITHER. (Nomnomnom.)


	8. Bowdlerize

**bowdlerize **\ BODE-luh-rise; BOWD- \ _transitive verb:_

1. To remove or modify the parts (of a book, for example) considered offensive.

2. To modify, as by shortening, simplifying, or distorting in style or content.

* * *

Sakura was ten when it finally happened.

When she had pictured enemy ninja (which she had done, frequently; from the younger escapades dodging 'bad nin' down the empty corridors, to the older considerations about defending herself), it had never been like this. They never had faces - instead swathed in darkness and mystery, always insubstantial, but maybe with the glint of a sinister eye, or a flash of wickedly sharp teeth. When they finally came for the base and its occupants, she caught her first glimpse outside of their masterfully crafted walls and saw, for the very first time, the people she loved dearly.

A few years down the road, she looks back and says to Naruto, "That's the day I realized the difference between good and bad." She will shiver, a nauseating swell of emotion churning in her gut. Naruto will sigh, wrap his muscled arm around her shoulders, and plant a feather-light kiss to her temple - banishing the darkness with his sunshine.

Sakura remembers this day with sharp, stinging clarity – like a physical blow of memory, but without the fading experienced with actual physical pain. This ache intensified over the years rather than dulled – a gaping, festering wound in her psyche. The smell of smoke still fresh in her nostrils, the vivid smears of crimson weeping down the stone walls, spattered on her pale cheeks, and dripping from their hands still warm against her skin. They kept the darkness from her for a decade, blindfolding her against the horror they reaped. She had been blind, utterly, wilfully blind to it all. She wonders what that says about her.

They attacked sometime around six in the evening, when the sun was dipping just beyond the horizon and Sakura was just finishing cleaning her dishes from dinner in the sink, totally unsuspecting. She can still feel the hot water, almost too hot to tolerate, and feel the scrape of cheap china beneath her fingernails; hear the screeching of the alarm ringing in her ears. The plates clatter noisily to the floor and shatter, the pieces scattering across the kitchen like broken shards of bone.

The alarm for intruders was a high pitched wailing that rang through every hall and chamber in the base and she had been taught what to do if it ever went off. Throwing herself off the stool she had been standing on, she dashed out of the communal kitchen on silent feet. The girl stuck to the shadows, her lithe form slithering along the walls like she had practiced.

Her chakra, small as it was, was kept leashed tightly within herself as Itachi had taught her. The rock was damp, rough and gritty against the clammy, sweaty softness of her palms as she dragged herself down the hall cautiously. She was one turn away from the trap door that led to a secret get-away when she saw them.

Faces covered in masks of bone with sweetly smiling painted faces, clothing entirely black, and chakra of nearly suffocating newness is what she saw first. Three of them. Standing directly in front of the secret door. Oh _no._

The enemy-nin were signing to each other, so fast that she couldn't make out anything but the blur of gloved hands. They were talking, probably planning the gruesome demise of her family. A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck and trickled down her spine as she had to swallow to keep from throwing up her dinner.

.

Where was she? Kami, _Where. Was. She?_

Deidara snarled a curse when he threw open the door to her bedroom, only to find it empty. Dread washed through him like an icy wave crashing unrelenting against the shore.

They had infiltrated the base, those stupid fucking Leaf shinobi. They had come bursting in, letting the entire rabble the Akatsuki had kept at bay with the constant base-switching in with them. ANBU to bandit swept through the stone halls like the destructive waves of a tsunami. What the Konoha shinobi were after, he didn't know or particularly care. Probably Uchiha's head on a platter. It didn't matter, though he would prefer that smug bastard's head to be plucked by his own hands.

What he did care about, however, was the safety of the one dearest to him. And she was nowhere to be found. Shit.

Breathing hard, the blonde explosives expert flew around a corner recklessly, his chakra spreading out around him in a desperate attempt to find Sakura. It wasn't as though hiding was even an option anymore. A bandit came upon him, brandishing a katana larger than him and screaming in fury, and was cut down with a savage, but disinterested snarl. The artist left him lying there in the hall with a kunai shoved efficiently through his windpipe.

The mouths on his hands gnashed their own sharp teeth angrily in response his fury and the murderous intent that seemed to flow through air. He screamed in frustration, "Sak_ura_!"

.

Two of them had darted down the opposite hall, but one refused to leave. The leaf ANBU shifted, his stance deceptively relaxed, the feeling of eyes burned him from the shadows. Except for the persistent blaring of the alarms, he couldn't hear a thing.

Kakashi of Konoha knew someone was watching him. Over the dank smell of wet stone, mould and earth, his sensitive nose could pick up on the delicate, sweet scent of jasmine and rainwater from somewhere in the shadows. "You can come out now," he called lazily, his mismatched eyes scanning the dense shadows for any sign of movement. When, after a few moments, still nothing happened, he sighed heavily - theatrically. "You know, I never thought the Akatsuki to be cowards who hide in the shadows. Hm. Guess I was wrong." Silence.

He turns his back, just slightly, as if to dash down the hall, careful to keep his Sharingan trained on the shadows. A moment passes. He takes two steps down the corridor.

There. A flicker of movement to his left, a minuscule flash of color in the darkness. Before whoever it was could register what was happening, he was there. He launched himself forward, but only managed to brush the moist stone of the wall, before making a second swipe closer to the ground – thinking that his opponent must have ducked or stooped. With his glove-covered hand fisted tightly in the fabric of her clothing – for the gasp of surprise was undoubtedly female - Sakura lurched forward into the sickly yellow light of the hall. It took the silver-haired ANBU a moment to register what he had pulled from the shadows, and when he did, his eyes widened considerably behind his animal mask.

With his fist still tightly clutching the crimson collar of her shirt, Kakashi brought her further into the flickering light, not quite believing what he was seeing. The girl couldn't be older than ten, quite possibly younger, and had the frail beauty of a porcelain doll. Her eyes were a wide, startled green and she seemed just as surprised to see him as he was to see her. He did not relent on his hold – children this young could easily still be highly trained shinobi, he himself was an example.

Just in case, he whipped out a kunai and pressed it hard to her jugular before questioning her – just shy of breaking the skin, "Who are you?"

Gulping, Sakura glanced at the hand holding the kunai to her throat before answering. She had to buy time. "Depends on who's asking." Her tone was snide, but she couldn't quite disguise the nervous quiver in her breathing – like the fluttering of a fragile bird's wing.

Not impressed, Kakashi dragged her closer to him and leaned forward so she could clearly see his eyes through the slits in his mask. "Girl, I would advise against you being a brat while I have a knife to your throat." The cold steel of said pointy object bit into the skin of her throat harder, clearly demonstrating that he wasn't afraid of using it.

Fine, if it bought her time, she'd tell him her name. Of her own free will and not at all because he was quite scary. Or that his voice sounded like cold metal pressed to her flesh, hard and sharp. It's not like he'd recognize the moniker anyway. "My name is Haruno Sakura, now please let go of me."

Please had worked with Orochimaru, after all.

Instead of letting go and completely ignoring the spark of anger in her eyes, he searched his vast memory for the name. When he came up blank he narrowed his eyes at her though she couldn't see them. She didn't look all that threatening, but this was the Akatsuki base and who knows what kind of sick tricks they have up their sleeves. he took in her appearance with a glance, noting the lack of visible weapons or pouches.

"Why are you here?", he murmured, with an edge of steel still present in his tone – there were places he had to be, but he was reluctant to _dispatch _her until a few questions were answered, "Are you an Akatsuki? – one of their relatives? A servant? A _slave?" _He brings her closer, nearly nose to mask, and scans her pale face for any sign of bruises or neglect.

She hissed an indignant negative – bristling like a kitten rubbed entirely the wrong way and jerks her head away. "My family would never, ever have _slaves_ – that is what horrible, mean, nasty, evil people like you would do!"

Some part of him wanted to laugh and Kakashi did indulge himself by giving a small, ironic chuckle which made her hiss again – pale cheeks livid with two twin spots of anger. Another part growled with a feral kind of anger – her family? And she considered them to be good. Innocent. She thought that he had slandered their name, their honour, by suggesting anything untoward. That made him slightly unnerved – a dark coil of irritation twisting, white hot, in the pit of his stomach.

Brainwashing could be truly effective.

"Your family – so you are a relation?" He didn't think she had meant it in the blood sense – more in a camaraderie kind of way that he could almost relate to if the undertones weren't so fucking sick. What would a bunch of _male_ criminals want to do with an innocent, adorable child after all? His gut twisted. He had seen situations like this before, in brothels and abusive homes, mostly. However, the stark, beguiling innocence gleaming in her wide eyes was something he had yet to witness in an abused child.

And if she was a relation she could be useful after all: as a bribe, a bargaining tool, which would also give him a reason to remove her from their twisted influence.

"No," she huffed.

More was the pity. Kakashi knew he should be going, knew he had a lot to accomplish, and knew that his team would be awaiting his back up, but one more question tugged at his mind and tongue – leaving an acidic burn the longer it was unspoken.

"You think that they are good?" His face twists behind his mask, all revulsion and disbelief.

"The best." Her face lit up with pride. His throat constricts, the sound that escapes somewhere between a scoff and hack.

With his free hand, he quickly extracted his new, completely up-to-date Bingo Book from one of the many pockets that littered his clothing. He saw her eyes follow the text with interest despite the fact that she tried to hide it. He frowns, but lets it pass.

"Take a look at this, kid, and see if you still think so," he grunted, releasing her and shoving the book in her hand in the same movement, before launching himself back into the fray.

If he couldn't free her body, he could at least begin to pick at the shackles on her mind.

.

Upon returning to base, Kisame had hoped to take a shower, eat some food, and spend a good night's sleep in his extra comfy bed. His mission had been a long one, but not particularly strenuous. However, spending night after night on a forest floor eating nothing but field rations for nearly two months would wear on even the most seasoned shinobi. Plus, he had bought something in Natsu for his Squirt and couldn't wait to see her face when he gave it to her.

What he hadn't expected, however, was to feel the nearly forty different chakra signatures from the direction of Head Quarters or to see a massive cloud of acrid smoke rising from the same direction. Almost immediately the haze of travel fatigue that had settled over him disappeared, replaced by adrenalin and anger.

Mentally, he cursed. Who was on base? The brat, Sasori, and Leader-sama. _Shit. _Forty enemy-nin could be handled within a day, but they couldn't be everywhere at once and Sakura had a way of attracting trouble.

He glanced at his partner, surprised to see his eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. Uchiha Itachi was...as close to concerned as he'd ever seen him and probably would ever see him. The shark-man bared his teeth at an invisible enemy with horrible snarl. Without a word the duo began their increasingly rapid advancement toward base and Sakura.

A mental image of her, pale and beaten, dangling from the filthy hand of a sneering little dick of a ninja passes behind his eyes. His great blue hands tighten around the hilt of Samehada; the sword is damn near quivering in expectation and indignant anger, furious that someone had dared to touch what he and Kisame had deigned worth their protection.

Heads were going to roll.

.

Pein raced through the base, leaving nothing but slaughter in his wake. He couldn't ever remember being this frantic in his adult life. They had come through the east wall. The side closest to Sakura's room. The side farthest away from him.

He had sent two of his other bodies out to look for her, but the base was a labyrinth of corridors, trap doors, and dead ends. She could be in any niche, secret wall, or tunnel they had taught her to hide. She could be in one of the open rooms, facing the enemy alone. She could be bleeding on the floor of her bedroom. She could be dead.

The orange-haired shinobi punches his hand through the gut of weakling ninja, wrapping his fingers around the flexible, slick cord of his spine, and yanks until the crunching, squishing sound his breathing makes stops. He pulls his hand out, fingers dripping, a kunai in one shoulder. He flicks his fingers carelessly, splattering blood along the walls - just black drips against the damp stone.

If his daughter had been so much as touched...

Irrationally, his mind conjures up a memory - the day he first saw the swell of child under Konan's robes, when he felt her move against the scarred palm of his hand. He had pressed his ear to his love's enlarged stomach, hearing the strong, steady beat of his daughter's heart.

He had done that often after that, just listening and touching. Konan had said, "She must like you, Nagato, because she never moves this much for me. Oh," she had sighed, moving his hand to the far left of her abdomen. "do you feel that? She agrees."

He remembers the first time he held her, in that dilapidated little inn, and watched as she held one of his large, scarred fingers in her whole fist. Sakura had looked up at him, those large eyes wide and curious, before burying her nose in the fabric of his mesh shirt. He recalls the feel of her new skin, the wispy little hairs on her head, and the sweet curve of her lips in her first smile.

When he sweeps into her room, the memories of her life seem to bombard him, pressing in around him until he can hardly breathe. Her room is sacked. She is nowhere to be seen.

.

Sakura crawls through the secret tunnel carefully, her arms and legs already scraped and bleeding from the rough journey on jagged stone. It is too dark to see, but she can feel the steady incline of the tiny corridor. She must go slow, the stone slicing through her skin even at her lagging pace.

A heavy sense of dread seems to hang over her like a dense cloud. The book is tucked under the lip of her stretchy black pants, it seems to burn against her skin. The curiosity eats at her, her mind going over what the enemy-nin with silver hair could have been talking about.

He had asked her if she was a slave.

Her face twists in anger and disgust just thinking about it. Her family were nice, _good _people. They would never take slaves or hurt anyone. They had servants, sure, but Sasori said they _wanted _to work for them.

He had laughed when she attempted to set him straight about the people she loved most.

Didn't he _know _that everyone was nice? _He _was the bad one! Good people don't go running through people's houses with the intent to hurt. Her family didn't go around terrorizing people like they did. They did - they...

Her brows drew together in a contemplative frown. What did the Akatsuki do? Pein had said they were going to change the world for the better, but that was a vague, unsubstantial explanation. No one had bothered to in any sort of depth with her. Well, surely it couldn't be anything _bad._

_Right?_

She shakes her petal-colored head quickly, attempting to dispel those stupid, crazy thoughts. What was she doing, listening to the ramblings of enemy-nin? He didn't know what he was talking about. He was trying to poison her against her own _family_. He was bad and she couldn't let herself forget it, even if her instincts hadn't even stirred when he had pressed the kunai to her throat.

Her mind had been scared, knowing what artery that deadly weapon was centimeters from pricking, but her gut had lain quiet. There was adrenalin, but her fight or flight instincts hadn't sprung forward. It was like her unconscious mind was telling her that he didn't _want _to hurt her.

Which was absolutely silly. Right.

Sensing the shaft quickly widening towards the exit, Sakura slowly ran her hands along the walls, looking for the switch to open the door. When her slim fingers brushed the smooth metal latch, she pushed it to the other side. When a small green light flickered to life next to it, the _shikk _and clap of the stone door sliding our of the way quickly followed.

Eyes hardly having to adjust in the darkness of the evening, Sakura crawled out of the secret tunnel slowly, eyes alert to any movement. She let out a gusty breath, the aftermath of her surge of adrenalin making her shaky and near exhaustion. Her eyes traced the familiar landscape of the tiny glade and its lonesome little cottage. She smiled and stumbled to the rickety structure and its safety, knowing how well Madara and Pein had trapped it.

The smooth cover of the book pressed into the side of her thigh persistently, reminding her of its presence. She glanced down at it guiltily.

Maybe just a peek. Just to prove that he's lying.

_._

Sasori is busy crushing the windpipe of an unfortunate-looking Leaf ANBU when Deidara skidded around a corner, specks of debris from minor explosions flecking his Akatsuki cloak. The redhead tosses the useless carcass aside, appearance totally unruffled. There is a curved dagger in his left hand, clutched between seemingly careless fingers, and dripping with thick purple poison.

The blonde man stops abruptly, feet skidding on the wood-panelled floor. "Have you seen her?"

Sasori's expression shifts from placid to furious so quickly Deidara is tempted to take a cautionary step back. "You haven't _found her?" _his smooth voice asks sharply, cold agitation simmering under the flat tone.

The blonde snaps back, "Of fucking course not! If I had, she would be -" The sudden glow of soft red light coming from their individual rings stops him short.

_"Safe house accessed." _the disembodied voice of their leader echoes in their minds, making both let out a relieved breath. Deidara runs his fingers through his fringe, trying to steady his breathing. "Thank you," he breathes to no one in particular. "Thank you."

.

By the time most of the threat has been extinguished, it is well past midnight. No one is terribly injured, only minor scrapes compared to wounds past, when they all meet at the center of the base. No one had been engaged in any serious battle with any of the more powerful ANBU that had infiltrated, they suspected, because it had been an reconnaissance mission - testing their defenses and capability. Probably trying to see if the rumors were true.

Around the same time, Sakura sits in the underground chamber that lies just below the crummy-looking cabin above. She has disinfected and slapped band-AID's on every cut and artfully hidden the prick on her neck with the high color of one of Konan's spare shirts.

She sits in the flickering light of a gas lantern, waiting for someone to come get her. Her fingers, seeming to have a mind of their own, toy with the plain cover of the Bingo Book the masked man had shoved into her hands. Carefully, she runs her chakra over it, looking for some sort of genjutsu. Finding none, she cautiously eases the cover open, not knowing what she'll find. She lands on the table of contents, eyes immediately going to the term _S-Class_ - a term she has heard spoken a few times among her friends.

With less caution, she skims to page one twenty-two.

* * *

A/N: This chapter has hard to write. I stink at action, as you can see, and its far shorter than I wanted it to be. BLEH. Oh well. My _amazing _Beta, PhePhePhe, and I had huge trouble with FF when trying to send this to each other. She sent the final version three times via DocX and they all got lost in the interwebz. DAMN, MAN. D: I had a ton of trouble writing the scene with Kakashi, but she totally helped and pretty much wrote the whole thing. I LOVE YOU THIIIIS MUCH, PHE.

I have recently become inamored with _Bleach_, guys. I just...really like it. Especially Grimmjow. So. Yeah. Fanific starting for that called _Don't Panic, _a GrimmHime. Just thought you might like to know. :D

**Concerning Hidan: **Some people have been asking about our dear, foul-mouthed Jashinist lately. Well, like I said, this follows the canon timeline. Hidan is the newest member (besides Tobi, but I don't think he really counts) and I imagine he comes in sometime around Sakura's genin years. I could be wrong, and tell me if I am, about that. He has a special place in the story, so don't worry. I love that guy, I can't wait to write him. SO CHILL YOUR BEANS, DUDES. I LOVE HIM TOO.

(Yeah capslock!)


	9. Verisimilitude

**verisimilitude **\ ver-uh-suh-MIL-uh-tood; -tyood \ _noun:_

1. The appearance of truth; the quality of seeming to be true.

2. Something that has the appearance of being true or real.

* * *

She knew better than to leave the safe house. She knew better than to go traipsing about in the strange, low-hanging, moss-clumped trees of Ame's impenetrable almost-forests. She knew and yet she went did it anyway.

She did it because she was angry. She did it because she was hurt. She did it because she was so confused that her stomach seemed to have twisted itself into tight, burning knots that tightened and writhed like snakes deep in her belly.

It was cold and raining as usual, but there seemed to be an extra bite in the silent, mist filled air; her handmade clothing stuck to her chilly skin within seconds, emphasising her slender frame and making her look like some sort of emancipated doll. The low, wiry trees of Rain's more forested areas scraped against her unblemished skin harshly – dragging across her skin like wizened fingers. She was cold and wet and couldn't stop walking. Kisame had warned her about going places when she was upset. Sakura chose not to listen.

She shouldn't have looked in that book. Oh, _no_, she really shouldn't have. No.

Clammy fingers dug into the thin strap of the weighty pack strung over her shoulder. Even in her frantic state, she had had the common sense to grab the emergency pack Konan had set aside for her and kept ready and waiting at all times. It contained a set of clothes, one pack of sharpened, oiled kunai, field rations, one canteen of water, a pouch full of money, a waterproof winter cloak, and a map. All she would need if she was ever on her own. But Sakura didn't think of that. Her thoughts, a confusing jumble of things that snapped like feral dogs and whimpered like frightened children, were circling around the unassuming little book she had ruthlessly hurled into the darkness of the underground hideout.

The rain pelted her skin like icy pebbles, the cold creeping into her bones. She used to like the rain. Pein used to take her out to the tall buildings of Ame just so they could sit together and watch it come down in great, unbroken sheets. Sometimes he would manipulate the water so it fell in far away patterns, delighting her to no end. _Pein. _Oh, _no._

_'...did not stop with merely Hanzou though, for he killed Hanzou's family, friends and associates; essentially taking down Hidden Rain all by himself. Highly dangerous. If seen, _do not engage._'_

In the back of her mind, a slightly more rational part of her spoke up. _The book could be lying._

It wasn't inconceivable. Facts and things could be easily misinterpreted or purposefully changed. But...

When had a book ever led her astray? Furthermore, some of those horrible statistics and factoids had seemed almost characteristic of them. Besides, why would any Nin change their facts and then send their subordinates into battle with no preparation or false information? What possible good could that serve?

There were things in that little, heinous book that she should never have known. How many victims had fallen prey to Deidara's bombs. Sasori's body count. The shredded remains of the people Samheda had ripped apart. A list of known crimes for nearly everyone she knew, including black and white pictures staring starkly from the seemingly innocent page. Things she had never wanted to know or see.

She didn't want to believe the things the book clearly laid out for her in a logical, cold, impersonal way. She wanted to remain in her sweet little bubble with her family and pretend like none of this had ever happened - no Konoha-nin, no book, no nothing. Sakura desperately wanted to believe that every word in that book was a lie, but she had, thanks to her own cleverness, proved herself wrong. Fingers trembling with copious amounts of adrenalin and emotion, the petal-haired ten year old had gone back and flipped through the lesser criminals.

There she had encountered the names and biographies of people the Akatsuki had themselves warned her about. When everything seemed to match up, her logical brain had to admit that the likelihood of the information being utterly incorrect was incredibly slim.

And then she panicked.

Partly because that meant the Leaf-nin was right. Partly because that meant that she had been blind. But mostly because everyone she had ever loved had killed hundreds of innocent people. Wilfully. Without cause. Because they _could._

And had she not once read that was the very essence of evil? To commit horrifying acts not out of necessity, or real inclination, but simply because it was possible.

Sakura was very smart, they had always told her so – often with a pride filled smile that made hot tears prick the corners of her eyes as she envisioned it - but this...She didn't know what to make of it.

She shouldn't be leaving, not even for a little while, but she needed to figure some things out - and this may be her only chance. They very rarely let her out of the base and trying to sneak out of their carefully laid defenses would be impossible. She had to go now or never. Other people, they had to know about the Akatsuki. Someone would be able to tell the truth. Someone. The girl carefully extracted a folded map from a pocket on her pack, slim fingers still shaking, and not entirely from the frigid temperature of her surroundings.

_Okay. Breathe._

Slowly opening the folded, laminated paper, Sakura tried to calm down. She needed a goal and a place to get to. Just wandering around the countries would be stupid and needlessly dangerous. Fingers tracing the fine lines of Ame's territory, the girl quickly determines her position on the western border. She is closest to Yuki, to Jihatsu-tekina, so...she might as well go there. Maybe - _maybe_ - her father will still be there. Maybe he'll remember her, can tell her who her mother is and how she came to live the Akatsuki.

Maybe. Hopefully.

Because if he wasn't there anymore, she didn't know what she'd do.

Thick streams of water gathered in the folds of the map, distorting the images – magnifying words. Slowly running her finger along the most feasible path to Jihatsu-tekina, Sakura took deep breath, steadying her nerves. Everything would be fine. When she got her answers she'd find them and talk to them. Everything would be okay. They would probably be mad that she left without saying anything, but they would just have to deal with that. She needed answers, the truth, for once. If it turned out that her family had been lying to her whole life, she didn't know what she would do. The petal-haired girl had nowhere else to go, no other family besides her as-of-now-mythical father, and no money save for the few coins in her pack.

Of course, there was always the option of becoming a ninja elsewhere. Finding a village to take her in would not be easy if everything that book said was true. Every Nin in the village would view her as some sort of double-crosser or mole for the criminals. Not to mention what the Akatsuki themselves would say when they found out she had switched sides. Although, to be fair, she had never known there _were_ sides. Or that she was on the bad one.

And Madara would -

Sakura choked, hands scrabbling for a branch to hold herself up, panic sweeping through her in a merciless black wave.

She hadn't even thought about him, something that had never, _ever _happened. Every big decision she had ever made was with him in mind, as minor and inconsequential as those choices seemed now. He had always been on the forefront of her mind. It just figured that she would completely forget about him while making the biggest decision she had yet to make. He would be so _angry._

Hot tears gathered in her jade eyes, mixing with the cold, stinging rain. He wouldn't approve of this – of course, he wouldn't. He would probably drag her all the way back to base by the collar of her shirt if he found her. Lock her in her room and refuse to visit her until she realized the error of her ways. She wished she had one of his cloaks, the thick black one she slept in sometimes, to block out the cold. He would be angry, but he would give it to her anyway. Like he had before.

But the book said otherwise. He would be a murderer, just like all of them were. Except -

_She hadn't even looked for his name._

Sakura's eyes widen impossibly large. She hadn't thought to look. His name - she was sure his name hadn't been in the directory! Quick as a whip, her clever mind flashed back the section on S-Class criminals, to the list of known Akatsuki.

_Pein. __Kisame. __Sasori. __Deidara. __Itachi. __Konan._

No, she is certain he wasn't there. Not under the Akatsuki, at least. Neither was Zetsu. What did that mean? – her heart raced, thoughts leaping from conclusion to conclusion. Was he worse?

.

When Madara felt the ripple across his chakra alerting him to a base infiltration – like a pebble being thrown in a vast pool - his first reaction was not one of anger. He had smiled behind his ever-present, ever-garish orange mask, laughing at the fact that the trash from Konoha had managed to find them. He had _told _Pein more than once that they needed to move again. Orochimaru knew their system and Sasori's mind-control could be chipped away by the right hands, or by sheer brute force. Servants can't be trusted, which is why the larger clans only ever had families who had been with them for generations serve them - and even then, it was a leery alliance.

Within a few moments that amusement waned.

His second reaction was much more violent, because only seconds after condemning Pein's lack of foresight, his cunning mind spiralled back onto someone who had become a centrepiece in his thoughts. Sakura's beaming face flashed before his mind's eye before another, stronger ripple of chakra slithered through his veins. Less a pebble disturbing a tranquil pool this time, and more of a huge serpent slinking into a rabbit's den. More intruders. His gloved fist hit the trunk of the tree he was propped against, easily shattering the wood into thousands of splinters. Snarling, the ancient Uchiha spun around on the tree branch he had been prepared to leap from. Launching himself in the opposite direction, towards her, he felt his lips pull back in a furious growl.

If his girl had been so much as scratched, he would tear whomever did it limb from limb, make them drown in their own filthy Konoha blood.

Nearly two hours later he was coming upon the Eastern border, when he felt the distinct shiver of his chakra nets being activated around safe house number six. Seconds after, the warm rush of her mint green chakra layering over his ran through his coils. She had performed the precautionary hand signs that activated the traps and henge for the safe house. Both Pein and Konan would have felt it too, as their own nets had been layered under his own.

Though the knowledge that she was well enough to get through one of tunnels to the safe house relaxed some of the tension coiled within him, his furious pace did not let up. He dashed from tree branch to tree branch at breakneck speed. Just because Sakura was well enough to crawl through a tunnel, did not mean she wasn't injured or worse. His little one had a will of steel; he knew she would pull herself through a dank little tunnel for miles with wounds if it meant living. Or if there was a book at the end.

_Tch, _he thought with an amused twist momentarily gracing his thin lips, _that girl and her books._

The thought was fleeting and failed to raise any sort of good feeling in him. There was a lurking, stagnant feeling of dread pooling in his belly. Madara's instincts, impeccably honed from decades of fighting and surviving, were flaring warningly. Something, _something, _was going to happen tonight. And it wouldn't be good.

.

The trip was much, _much _longer than she had anticipated.

She fought blizzards, frighteningly dark nights, and horrible bouts of loneliness. Sakura had never slept so little or felt as she did in the two and a half weeks it took to reach Jihatsu-tekina. She had nearly turned back at least a dozen times, but her unwavering stubbornness kept her on her feet.

By the time she entered the hazy, snow-covered streets of the little village, Sakura was as close to frozen as she'd ever been. She had never seen snow before - rain, most certainly, but never the bitingly cold whiteness that seemed to _never end. _If she was was in a better mood, had more layers on, and a friend with her, maybe she would have enjoyed it more.

But she had none of those things when she passed through the gates of the sleepy little town, barely visible beneath a layer of ice and snow taller than her and halfway built into the mountains. The buildings were low with steeply pointed roofs and tightly packed together, making the roads impossibly narrow and winding. The odd architecture would have intrigued her more if she weren't quite so exhausted, quite so cold, and quite so lonely.

When she came upon an open area in what she assumed was the centre of the town, Sakura tiredly looked around for a place to stay. She had rapidly run out of money on her journey, even being as frugal as Kakuzu had drilled into her, she was very nearly out. At most, she would be able to pay for one nights lodging, not including a meal that her body desperately needed.

Utterly out of energy, she flopped onto an ice coated bench in boneless, exhausted slump. It was early morning and the sun was barely peeking out from over the mountain ridges, casting an icy, pale glow on the village. Sitting there on the frozen bench, Sakura could hardly feel the cold through her drowsiness. Her eyes slipped closed.

Approximately twelve minutes later, a woman stepped out into the square. She was on her way to work at the little inn across the tiny clinic. Her lunch tucked safely under her arm, she began to tromp through the snow and ice that covered her Jihatsu-tekina nearly eleven months out of the year. The stout, older woman was nearly across the square before she noticed the pink-topped, snow covered, shivering lump on the bench.

She blinked. Now that was very odd. Even the homeless would know that being out this time of year for any longer than necessary was entirely foolish. Slowly, she crept closer, curious as to the identity of the apparently sleeping lump. As she crept closer the size of the person became glaringly obvious. The woman gasped. It was child!

Immediately increasing her speed, she rushed through the snow and dropped her wrapped lunch onto the ice. She made quick work of the snow that had accumulated on the girl, brushing it away from her delicate face. She worriedly noted the washed out pallor of her skin, dark circles under her eyes, and the slight hollow in her cheeks. She shook her lightly, hoping the cold hadn't set in too badly.

Sakura came awake with a start, the hazy swirl of Sharingan fading into wakefulness. Though her eyes opened and consciousness slowly washed away the warm darkness, she could not bring herself to fully comprehend her situation or the woman slowly sitting her up and speaking softly. Exhaustion, hunger, and cold weighed heavily on her mind and body, making it near impossible to focus. Through the haze, she managed to mumble out her name and a soft "not from here".

The woman huffed, suddenly angry with the parents of this fragile little girl for letting her wander this far into the north alone - for she must have travelled far, by the look of her boots and flimsy cloak. After stooping to pick up her lunch, she proceeded to gently prod Sakura, dazed and exhausted as she was, her pack clutched unconsciously to her chest, towards the little inn across the way. There was no way she'd leave a little girl out in the snow to freeze.

Her boss wouldn't mind. Hopefully.

.

When Sakura woke up fully, approximately three hours later, she was shocked to find herself firmly ensconced in quilts and fabulously warm. It took a moment for her to register the fact that, no, this wasn't base and she had no idea where she was. Warm and comfortable as she was, years and years of her shinobi training impressing the importance of paranoia, Sakura forced herself to peak out over her blankets.

She was in a small room with a tiny, merrily crackling fire in a small hearth in the corner. The furniture was sparse, only a small table, wooden chair, and bed. With a swell of relief, she noticed her pack resting innocently on the chair, apparently untouched.

The pinkette felt absolutely silly, now, thinking about she had foolishly fallen asleep in a strange town on a random bench _in the snow. _She winced. If any of her friends knew, they would butcher her. Kisame would probably give her a good slap on the back of the head for doing something so risky. A small smile curled the corners of her lips before the full force of her homesickness crested over her. Just as her bottom lip began to wobble, the door opened.

Quickly wiping away a stray tear, Sakura sat up curiously. A portly, older woman stepped through the door carrying a tray with steaming bowl of something atop it. She had a kind face, Sakura thought.

Noticing her, the woman smiled and said, "You're awake! Good." Dragging the chair over to her bedside with one hand and then making herself comfortable beside her, she carefully set the tray on Sakura's lap. "There's some good hardy stew for you, it'll warm you from the insides out. Promise. Now eat up. And when you're done, you can tell me everything."

Sakura eyed the woman warily. The Akatsuki had impressed the importance of constant suspicion on her from a very young age. This woman didn't _seem _particularly suspicious, though. And the stew smelled, really, _really _good to her half-starved senses. A bite couldn't hurt, right?

The woman watched closely as Sakura carefully ladled a spoonful of stew into her mouth. It seemed to have an immediate effect, as the girl quickly scooped up spoonful after spoonful into her mouth. She knew she should probably warn her to slow down, but didn't want to discourage her from eating, either. When Sakura was scrapping at the sides of the bowl, she carefully slid the the tray away and replaced it with a large cup of water. "Here, drink some water." she murmured, carefully smoothing the fine strands of pink hair from the girl's forehead.

When Sakura had gulped down enough water to please the lady, she began her questions. "So, now that you're finished, I think I'll introduce myself. My name is Karin and I work at this inn. What is your name?"

Sakura nervously picked at the quilt keeping out the chill. This was as good a chance as any to start asking about her father, but knowing that didn't stop the nervous flutters in her stomach at finding him. With a deep breath that did very little to calm her down, she replied, "Haruno Sakura, ma'am."

There was no sign of recognition at the mention of her surname. Sakura nearly sighed, she had hoped she would recognize the name. "Okay Sakura, how did you end up in my little town all alone?"

"I'm looking for my father," she swallowed hard around the sudden lump in her throat. "My - the woman who raised me, she told me his name was Haruno Ishi. She said he lived here. Do you know him?"

Karin's brows drew together in thought as she racked her brain for the name, going over everyone she knew. There was a vague, niggling recognition somewhere in the back of her mind, but she couldn't dredge up anything concrete. "I'm afraid I don't know him, honey."

"Oh." Sakura's shoulders slumped, exhaustion and disappointment swelling to fill her mind with a dejected haze. "Okay."

Concerned, Karin slowly eased her down to lay flat and pulled the blankets up to cover her delicate shoulders. "Don't worry, Sakura-chan," she murmured as she picked up the discarded tray. "I'll ask around see what I can do. There are some shinobi in town - maybe they can help."

Sakura didn't hear her, having drifted off after _don't worry. _

* * *

A/N: Okidokey. Well, what can I say? I'm sorry this took so long and how short it is. I've had it half finished on my laptop for _ages_, but this chapter was particularly hard for me to write - not to mention all of that pesky _life _stuff that kept getting in the way. French foreign exchange student for a month, summer, Art Academy classes, kittens...

Anyway, d'you know what I love? _Fanart. _As an artist myself, art made by someone else for _me _about something I _wrote _is huge freaking deal. The fabulous 'Devilchu drew an adorable picture of Madara with Baby Sakura and it is _fabulous. _Speaking of which, I drew some quick pictures for _Stumble,_ they're up on deviant art if you'd like to see them. The link is on my profile.** Edit: **Now that I look at them, I guess I should warn you guys about spoilers. If you don't want hints about the plot of this story, don't look.

Once again, a huge thank you goes out to my beta, Phephephe, for combing through this like a trooper.


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